


Fuel to the Fire

by Cutekittenlady, Eastofthemoon



Series: Black Paladin Zarkon AU [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Black paladin zarkon au, Gen, VLDgen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 53,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22567234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutekittenlady/pseuds/Cutekittenlady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastofthemoon/pseuds/Eastofthemoon
Summary: While the Earth Galra are having their annual celebrations, Shiro's arm is brought to Earth along with some unresolved history and tensions.Sequel to Passing the Torch
Relationships: Alfor & Blaytz & Gyrgan & Trigel & Zarkon (Voltron), Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Lotor & Zarkon (Voltron)
Series: Black Paladin Zarkon AU [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1003086
Comments: 27
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

“Rating on electrical charge?”

“Charge of 1020, Mother.”

Honerva glanced through the information on the tablet, grunted in disapproval, and began to fiddle with the device’s inner workings.

“Is it still too low?” Lotor asked, looking over his mother’s shoulder. 

“No, too high. At this level, it will fry his brain.”

The new prosthetic for the new black paladin was mostly complete. All the inner workings were in place and the arm itself was properly proportioned. The only thing left was the calibration.

They had been having trouble with this for awhile. Neither Lotor or his mother had to work on something like this for a  _ human _ before. They had all the information they needed but actually getting the machinery to comply with the human nervous system was proving difficult.

Too high of a charge would overwhelm the system, and a too low of one wouldn’t properly connect to the nerves and be rendered useless. Even a slight deviation from the initial charge could shut the whole thing down as it was being attached. Everything had to be exact before and during the operation. Afterwards, the arm could self regulate.

Honerva had nearly gotten the process down to an exact science when her husband had come to her with the request. At first she had refused, there were so many other things that needed her attention. Other projects to begin. Then Lotor, her own son, had suggested that, if she couldn’t do it, then they could provide Alfor with a set of schematics and set him to it. Both her professional and maternal pride couldn't hold out against  _ that _ .

So she willingly walked into a trap that she hadn’t even realized was a trap until a day or so later.

Peering into the mechanism, Honerva said offhandedly, “You should know better than to manipulate your father and I.”

Lotor paused before giving her a wide eyed innocent stare, “But I have not.”

Honerva wagged the tool in her hand at him scoldingly, “Do not give  _ me _ the keen-naive-young-mind act Lotor. I practically invented that.”

He demurred a little and admitted, “I may have made a suggestion.”

“Oh yes?” Honerva said in mock interest, “And I am certain you just  _ happened  _ to say it in a moment and setting, in front of just the right people, where your father could not have possibly have said no.”

“That is not manipulation,” Lotor feebly defended himself, “You needn’t call it manipulation! I merely suggested it for your benefit. It was the perfect opportunity for you to expand your research in artificial limbs. ”

“Really? So tricking people into doing what you want, like you did to me - do not shake your head, yes you did!” she snapped. Lotor shrunk under her gaze and winced, just like he’d always done when he'd been scolded as a child. “That is not what you would call manipulation?”

Lotor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked away, contemplated for a second, before saying, “It… was necessary.”

“You always say it is necessary,” she sighed. 

The way Lotor could seamlessly direct people to do as he wanted was a skillset Honerva had never managed to master. It required a certain understanding of people that neither she nor Zarkon could hope to attain. It was such a useful skill, both in the court and without, that she had never bothered to actively discourage its development.

Now, Honerva wondered if she should have done so.

“If I had said nothing he would have gone on insisting and making up excuses forever.” Lotor vented, “He absolutely refused to believe the black lion had chosen that human over me. He actually insisted he couldn't do it due to losing his arm! If I'd let him go on it could have irreversibly damaged our relations with Earth. I  _ had _ to step in.”

It sounded reasonable, but Honerva had her suspicions. She had noticed Lotor tended to behave oddly whenever the topic of taking over for his father came up. It was likely just nerves, but there were  _ other _ possibilities.

“Regardless of the reasoning, do not try such things with your father. You know it makes him feel daft.”

Lotor muttered something almost inaudible, but Honerva managed to catch it anyway.

She glared, “He _ does  _ notice. You are exceedingly clever, Lotor, but that does not give you the right to treat your father like a fool.”

Lotor winced as his shoulders sagged regretfully, “That is never my intention.”

Honerva melted, the muscles in her face relaxing from scolding her grown son to a softer approach, “Just, please Lotor, all that I ask is that you do not mislead Zarkon or I. Even if your intentions are well meant, we cannot help you if we do not know your mind. Don’t you trust us?”

As her hopeful gaze lingered on him, Lotor could only avert his eyes. He stared at the floor for a few tics before saying, noncommittally, “I will... endeavor to change my behavior.”

Honerva’s shoulders slacked and she stared into the mechanism forlornly. There had been a time when Lotor would have eagerly reaffirmed his faith in her, but that had long past. Over the years, a rift had somehow formed between Lotor and both his parents. It was most obvious between him and his father, but Honerva felt it between the two of them as well. 

No one outside her seemed to have noticed, not with her colleagues from Altea and Daibaazal alike showering her with praise over what a wonderful son she'd raised and how lucky she was to have such an intellectual child to share her research with. Surely, she had advice on how to connect with their own children, who hadn't the slightest interest in the latest science and technology. And of course, she and Lotor did share an abundance of the same interests and could carry intellectual conversations for hours. There were things he would tell her that he didn’t feel comfortable telling his father and were too technical or personal for Narti to advise on. 

It had been something of a relief when her son had taken an interest in, and excelled at, intellectual pursuits over the purely physical pastimes of his fellow galra. Honerva had dreaded that she would be unable to feign the proper amount of interest or bear the loss of time that would have been required to properly attend to the interests of a more active child. There were differences, of course. Lotor carried a greater interest in strategy, history, and the lower sciences than she did, but the occasional conversation about dead and gone civilizations was a small price to pay for the benefit of keeping her child close. 

From the outside looking in, things were perfect between them and he clearly cared for her. It was impossible to hear about all the things Lotor  _ didn’t  _ tell her until it was too late. Or how he would change the passcode to her lab and refuse to tell her what it was because he thought she had been working for too long. 

They’d had arguments. But unlike the loud shouting matches with Zarkon, the arguments between mother and son were quietly held behind closed doors and could go on for weeks rather than just an afternoon, festering like mould in a petri dish that was never cleaned. 

And so, to royal servants, the court, and even Zarkon; Honerva seemed to get on better with the Prince than anyone within the palace. Not including Narti, of course.

Narti was a strange addition to their little family that Honerva was nonetheless intently grateful for. Outside of being a good companion and loyal servant, she kept Lotor out of trouble, and watched over him when neither of his parents could. Besides, she kept quiet and didn’t cause any trouble.

Despite her unintrusive nature, most of the court seemed to oscillate between finding Narti’s presence disturbing and blatantly ignoring her. The reasoning was more than a little obvious. Narti wasn’t native to the court, she was born outside of the caste system and had no clear place in it, and she was half galra. The position of being a Prince may have shielded Lotor from having the fact directly commented upon, but that protection didn’t extend to Narti.

It was hard to tell exactly how much Narti minded the passive aggressive comments, if at all. Her expressions were so limited, that Honerva could only read her when the girl had great surges of emotion and became agitated. 

Lotor, however, definitely minded. He minded a lot. 

“How is the charge now?” Honerva asked, hoping to bury the intrusive thoughts in the wave of technical thinking, just like she had so many times before.

Lotor seemed just as willing to leave the conversation behind, “1025. Too high?”

“Not too much. One or two digits lower and we should have it."

Honerva made the slightest movement with her tool. Then she paused, straightened, and took the datapad from Lotor’s hands and glanced over it.

“Have it,” She gave a relieved sigh and closed the panel. “Here’s hoping they appreciate all this work I’ve put in.”

“They shall,” Lotor said a soft appreciation creeping into his voice, “even if their prosthetics technology weren’t so primitive the Earthlings would truly have to be the universe's greatest fools not to recognize genius when they see it.”

Honerva checked his expression like she had the numbers displayed on her datapad, though with less intellectual curiosity and more of a tug to sate her emotional turmoil over her son’s current distance. To her relief, Lotor’s eyes had softened and the smugness in his grin had lessened enough to be merely prideful. She smiled in return.

As a wife and mother Honerva certainly couldn't complain of any lack of appreciation. Zarkon and Lotor spoiled her with compliments and uncharacteristic acts of affection. Honerva drank it all in as naturally as water. It made her feel all the better knowing neither of them were like this with anyone but her.

“We shall go over the installation process later,” she placed the arm into a cylindrical airtight container and sealed it with the press of a button to prevent any contamination during transport. The man had already lost an arm due to alien bacteria, the last thing he needed was some mutated form of gangrene on top of it. “Normally I would leave such things to the medics and my lab assistants, but they can’t seem to retain all that I tell them.”

“Perhaps if you summarised the process in five paragraphs or less?” Lotor suggested in a tone somewhere between teasing and exasperation.

Honerva snorted and waved an impatient hand, “Nonsense. I do not see why I should water it all down for them. Not when you can understand it so well.”

Lotor sighed, “Of course, Mother.” 

“Now, shouldn’t you be off preparing? The Blazar tournament  _ is  _ tomorrow.”

Lotor grimaced in disdain, “Yes, there is much left to do to prepare for the exceedingly important role of sitting in a chair all day watching other people fight.”

Honerva suppressed the urge to laugh at her son’s crestfallen expression, his ears drooping.

She knew how badly he had wanted to take part in the tournament now that he was old enough to do so. However, his father, who normally oversaw the event, had other business to attend to that day. That left Lotor to take on his ceremonial role as Prince and take his father’s place.

Instead, she said in the most uplifting way she could muster, “A role I am certain you will perform masterfully. You are always excellent at public appearances. That is why your father never hesitates to leave such things to you.”

Honerva did not mention how anxious she and Zarkon had been about the whole thing. While she had a deep respect for her husband's culture, the idea of throwing their only child into a pit to fight with weapons (dulled or not) did not appeal to her at all. Zarkon, for his part, felt much the same way. Though, while Honervas objections were largely subjective, Zarkons were a direct result of Lotors below average size compared to the other participants, and the fact that he'd never really gotten over their son's numerous health scares as a child. 

“It is certainly difficult to see how I could possibly fail,” Lotor said while twitching his nose in disdain, “Still, I suppose I should go play the part.”

He eyed her carefully, “I assume you will partake in some much-deserved rest now that that arm is complete.”

Quiznak. Honerva had hoped he’d forget about that. The cosmic wolf sample was sitting in the containment unit just  _ waiting _ to be analyzed!

“There are one or two things yet to be done.”

“But none that are necessary.” Lotor insisted, “I am certain no one would complain if you took the rest of the evening off.”

Honerva rubbed her eyes. She was certain Lotor would stand there all night just to prevent her from working if she let him.

“Very well,” She surrendered with a sigh, turning towards the door, “I suppose I can afford an early evening.”

This seemed to satisfy Lotor, though he took the extra step of taking the datapad from his mother’s hands before walking out.

Drat. The boy thought of everything.

* * *

Blaytz scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand. “Okay,” he said slowly, “that was...an attempt.”

Pidge wrinkled her nose as she crossed her arms. “We failed miserably.”

Blaytz coughed, unnerved by the next Green Paladin’s bluntness. “I didn’t say that.”

“It’s written all over your face,” Shiro replied in a deadpan tone as he removed his helmet.

Blaytz sighed. He never would have predicted Zarkon’s successor to be this insightful.

“Well, it wasn’t my fault,” Lance pouted as he pointed accusingly at the red paladin at his side. “I blame Keith.”

Keith choked as he glared at him. “What?! How is it my fault?!”

“Because you gave bad directions!”

“I kept telling you to go right! You weren’t listening!”

“You were rattling them off faster than great uncle Ernesto - and he was an  _ auctioneer _ !”

“Whoa, whoa,” Hunk got in between them. “Guys, calm down. It was nobody’s fault.”

Blaytz cringed. “Honestly, it was more a combination of everything.”

It had been a simple exercise. Divide the paladins into two teams, put one team in a maze while the other team gave them direction on how to get out. So, he had randomly selected Hunk and Keith to give directions while the others had entered the maze.

Somehow, Shiro had ended up trapped in the center, Lance got caught walking around in circle while PIdge only got out by figuring out the path herself.

“I have to agree,” Shiro said earnestly as he rubbed his neck. “Keith  _ did _ talk a bit too fast, sorry buddy but you did. Hunk got his directions mixed up, Pidge got frustrated and decided to solve it herself, I was too focused on trying to keep the others from getting lost and ended up getting stuck, and Lance? You just weren’t listening to  _ anyone _ .”

Lance flinched and blushed as he turned his head away. “Well, Mullet didn’t make it easy.”

Keith growled as Blaytz patted his shoulder, hoping to calm him.

“Just be glad we’re not using the maze I trained in with the other paladins originally,” he said lightly. “That thing was invisible and would electrocute us for going in the wrong direction.”

Hunk rubbed his arm. “Ow? Really?”

“Yeah,” Blaytz said with a sheepish smile. “I still flinch every time I hear someone tell me to go ‘left’.”

Pidge frowned as she grasped her chin. “You know, if I got the right equipment I could set a similar maze up-”

“No,” everyone said in unison.

“What? It’s just an idea?” Pidge protested.

Shiro sighed as he looked back to Blaytz. “Should we try running the maze again?”

Blaytz clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No, I’m willing to bet it would have the same results.” He narrowed his eyes. “I think what you guys really need is to bond.”

“Isn’t that what we were just trying to do?” Keith said as he pointed to the maze.

“It is, but I think I jumped the gun a bit with that one,” Blaytz replied as he paced back and forth. “You guys need to learn to trust each other. I thought this would be a good way to nudge you in the right direction, but it looks like it had the opposite effect.”

Shiro frowned as he shut his eyes. “So, we need to find another way for us to bond?"

“Yeah,” Blaytz said as he shut his eyes, “and I’m thinking I can’t pick it for you guys. It’ll likely have the same results if I select something for you. The exercises that worked for me and the others clearly won’t work for you. You’ll have to figure out what works best for yourselves.”

“Oh joy,” Pidge muttered as her shoulders slumped. “My brain is too tired to do anymore thinking today.”

“We’ll focus on training exercises,” Blaytz replied, “but you guys need to think of some way for you to bond as a team outside of training. You guys won’t be able to form Voltron unless you can function properly as a team.”

“But it’s not like we have to worry about that for a while, right?” Hunk asked. “I mean you and the other paladins will be around for a long time.”

Blaytz went quiet. He wanted to assure Hunk, but he  _ couldn’t _ . “I want to say yes, but the thing is thirty years ago I  _ never _ would have even imagined that I’d be flying in a giant robot lion trying to protect the universe.” He rubbed his neck. “One thing that I have learned is that the future lives to surprise you and you have to prepare for the unexpected.”

Hunk looked downcast but said nothing as Pidge patted his shoulder. Lance swallowed hard as he rubbed his neck. Keith’s eyes hardened as Shiro next to him straightened his posture and both looked ready to shield their team. It was clear they understood his meaning. Should anything happen to him or the other Paladins,  _ they _ were next in line to put their lives on the line for the peace of the universe. 

It was a mighty burden to bear even for middle aged rulers, much less in these five who were not even adults.

“Let’s call it quits for the day,” Blaytz declared as he tried to ease the tension. Part of him regretted saying that. These kids were too young to be worrying about that. Although, Blaytz himself hadn’t been that much older before he had started his adventures with Alfor and the other paladins. 

“You guys get cleaned up,” Blaytz continued, “and figure out how to bond. I do have some things to do.”

Primary of which was preparing for Allura and Coran’s arrival at the Garrison. So far, Admiral Sanda had granted them permission to stay, but Blaytz would feel better if he double-checked to make certain there won't be any issues with their arrival. 

“Alright,” Shiro said as he glanced over to his fellow paladins. “Let’s head out and we can try some brainstorming.”

“No need,” Lance said smugly as he stood up and removed his helmet. With a flashy smile, he confidently continued like he had everything figured out, “Two words: dance club. We go out tonight, find a place-”

“Yeah, no,” Keith as he walked passed him towards the door. “I’m objecting to that idea.”

“Ditto,” Pidge agreed with a nod.

“Aw, come on,” Lance whined as he raced after them to make his case.

Blaytz gave a small chuckle. “Reminds me of the old days,” he muttered to himself.

So many times he and the other paladins would bicker as they went to celebrate at their favorite bar after a fierce battle. They got into so many fights there. Even Trigel accidently started one when she got into an argument with some of the patrons about perpetual motion machines. 

That fight just kept going and going.

It had been a long while since they had gone there. Granted, they had frequented the place long before any of them had planets to rule or future generations to train. Blaytz wondered if their table still bore their names where Grygan had carved them.

“Suppose it won’t be long before the kids leave their mark on the universe and everyone forgets about us,” Blaytz said aloud.

A comforting growl echoed in his head. Blaytz smiled in return.

Well, at least someone would remember them.

* * *

“I can’t believe this day is here,” Gyrgan sniffed. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.”

“She is merely going to assist in training.” Trigel deadpanned. “It is not as though she is getting  _ married _ , Gyrgan.”

Even so, it  _ was _ an important step for the Altean princess. This was the first time Allura would be acting as a diplomatic envoy without either of her parents accompanying her. There was Coran, of course, but he was merely tagging along to offer advice if she were to really need it. This would be Alura’s show to run.

Regardless, the princess smiled and said, “Thank you, Gyrgan. I must admit it is a bit… nerve-wracking. I'm a little afraid of what might happen if we fail, however, I swear I will do all I can to get all your successors in proper working order.”

“I know you will,” Alfor said affectionately as he held his daughter by the shoulders, “This should really be our responsibility, however…”

“You all have planets to run,” Melenor finished walking up after looking over the last of the preparations, “All except for Blaytz. I am certain you can rely on him for assistance dear.”

“Yes,” Allura sighed, “that’s a bit of a comfort.”

“It’s good to have someone who knows the culture there,” Coran said thoughtfully tugging on the end of his mustache. “Never a good idea to get off on the wrong foot on a new planet.”

“It should not be too terrible,” Trigel said thoughtfully, “Outside of the Garrison’s command, regular human interaction seems to be incredibly informal. If anything we should hope  _ they  _ don’t get off on the wrong foot with  _ you _ .”

“As a matter of fact, this is not my first trip to Earth,” Allura corrected, “I have gone with father many times over the years.”

“Which makes you perfect for the job Princess!” Gyrgn said with a grin, “you may not end up needing Blaytz’s help at all.”

Allura blushed, clearly flattered by the praise, “I shall do my best to make you all proud.”

As she watched the princess leave, Trigel couldn’t help but feel apprehensive.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so exuberant with your praise, Gyrgan.”

The yellow paladin looked at her curiously, “Why not? Surely she has earned it.”

“I agree,” Alfor said proudly, “There is no one I’d trust more with this responsibility. I assure you my daughter is more than capable.”

“I was not implying she wasn’t,” Trigel sighed. Between Zarkon and Alfor she was really growing tired of the heedless blind praise of parents, “I am merely concerned about how well versed she is when it comes to the complications on Earth.”

“What complications?”

“You know the one.”

Alfor shifted on his feet, “You… may have to be more specific. Do you mean Sanda and the Garrison? Or are you afraid he still hasn’t fully accepted the new paladins?”

“The complications Zarkon never wants to discuss? The one your new paladin is unfortunately caught up in?”

“Ah,” Alfors voice was suddenly less enthusiastic as he played with the end of his beard, “ _ Those _ complications.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence.

“I am certain Allura will be delicate,” Melenor said gently touching her husband’s arm, “Besides, now that Zarkon is going to be more involved on Earth it is certain to be addressed soon.”

“With what results I wonder?” Alfor sighed unhappily. It wasn’t something Alfor had felt right sticking his head into in the past. It was an entirely Galran centered issue, and he hadn’t wanted to make it seem like Altea was trying to micromanage the alliance. “I touched upon the subject briefly with Allura, but I am afraid she may not comprehend just how complicated it all is.”

Trigel chose to leave the topic there. They had other matters to attend.

“I have some news.” 

“What sort of news?” Gyrgan asked.

“Urgent.”

Transforming from casual friend to responsible king, Alfor instinctively felt his posture straighten. Taking a business-like tone, he inquired, “About the pirates?”

Trigel nodded, “I have received new information regarding their activities. It seems they’re now active in the area in and around the space mall. I do not know if the Unilu are in any way involved with the pirates, but even if they are not, I can’t imagine they would turn down a potentially lucrative business transaction.”

“I see…”

“If I may advise, it may be a good idea to look into it. I am not recommending direct action, you understand. You never know what information may turn up.”

Alfor nodded in understanding. Without Zarkon, any kind of attack felt ill-advised. However, if they waited for him to be available it may be too late.

Right now, the Galra were in the midst of a major celebration. Their defenses were still heavily manned (they would be) however there would be no men to spare. Zarkon, ever the workaholic, was still going to Earth to deliver young Shiro’s new arm and likely wouldn’t be readily available for days. Maybe even weeks.

“How is the business on your planets?” He asked.

“Nothing pressing,” Trigel said with a shrug. Alfor wasn’t sure if that was true. Trigels measure of what was pressing tended to be known only to her. Thankfully she’d been gifted with an exceptionally gifted secretary.

Alfor turned to Gyrgan.

“I must deal with the nexo migration,” he said. “After that however, I can join you.”

The king nodded gratefully and then turned to his wife. 

Melenor looked more apprehensive, “These people are dangerous, Alfor. I am not sure you should stick your head into their business.”

“Do you not believe I can handle it?”

“Without Zarkon there to look after you?”

Alfor crossed his arms petulantly, “He is not my caretaker.”

“No,” Melenor conceded before giving her husband a look of concern, “but he is your friend, and having him accompany you always gives me a great deal of comfort. Please promise me you won’t be reckless Alfor.”

Alfor took her hand and kissed it, “I swear on the name of my forefathers.”

* * *

Things were not going well. 

After the rather disastrous training seminar, Shiro had thought the best thing for everyone would be to get a bite to eat from the Garrison cafeteria. They’d all managed to work up a sweat and it gave them an opportunity to rest their legs while fueling their bodies. Many of Shiro’s dearest memories with his fellow pilots had been formed around the long tables of the cafeteria with the garrisons mac and cheese piled high on the plate in front of him. Perhaps… just maybe this was what they needed to bond as a team. That and, quite frankly, he was  _ starving _ .

However, his high hopes were quickly dashed when Hunk chose then to inform him that, while many of the foods in the cafeteria were delectable, the mac and cheese was a boxed food sham. Then Lance and Keith had somehow managed to get into yet another argument. About what, he wasn’t entirely certain since he hadn’t been paying attention. All the while, Pidge played games on her phone. Completely blind to the chaos forming around her.

It was all rather sobering. How in the world were the five of them going to form a team as tight as Voltron?

Needing some time to himself, Shiro told the others to go on ahead to the lions temporary hangar while he checked on something in his room. Keith, probably needing some time to think himself, had gone off with a similar excuse. In reality Shiro was on his way to the vending machines outside the medical ward. It was the only place on base he could get his favorite soda.

As he rounded the corner, he stopped at the sight of a strange man attempting to manhandle the Garrison’s notorious ‘soda machine of death’. It had suffered a major malfunction years ago, but no one had gotten around to fixing it. Everyone either avoided it or, for the brave few who dared risk the danger to attain their favorite fizzy beverage, they traded the secrets of how to handle the dangerous machine. 

This man was evidently from neither group. As he neared he noticed the bright orange hair and, most notably, the small marks under his eyes.

An altean?

Despite Earth’s good relations with King Alfor and his people, not many alteans had opted to abandon their advanced civilization for the relatively rural comforts of Earth. In truth, Shiro wasn’t certain how to even approach an unknown Altean. King Alfor had always insisted on informalities but that was no reason to think his people felt the same way. In truth, Shiro was far more comfortable with Galran social cues due to his relationship with Keith. 

Shiro debated his options. He could sneak away and pretend he never saw the Altean or he could intervene.

"Blasted… King Grogery's beard just give it to me!"

Shiro sighed as the Altean shook the machine. Yeah, he’d better stop this before he caused a huge mess or something.

Shiro cleared his throat. "Do you need some help?"

The Altean froze. Swiftly, he released the vending machine, smoothed out his hair and twirled his moustache.

"Oh um… don't mind me," the Altean replied with a shaky grin. "I was um...doing an Altean tradition of inspecting the inner workings of this Earth machine."

"By shaking it?" Shiro asked.

The Altean coughed. "Um… yes, it allows me to hear the gears and such."

"Right," Shiro said as he decided to preserve the Altean's dignity. 

He approached the vending machine as he raised his fist. "This thing has been acting up lately. You just have to give it a good whack right… here! "

Shiro grunted as he gave the machine a hard whack with his fist.

The vending machine shook. There was a rattle. The Altean leaned forward to take a look but Shiro gently held him back.

A can of lime soda flew out. The Altean yelped as Shiro caught the can with his hand.

"I suggest you wait a bit before opening it," Shiro told him as he handed him the can.

The Altean blinked in disbelief as he took the drink. "Gracious, you need to get that fixed before it injures someone."

"No argument here," Shiro replied. 

Frankly, it was amazing no one had gotten a black eye from it yet.

The Altean examined the can before tucking it behind his back. “Well, thanks all the same.” He offered a hand. “I’m told shaking hands is a common Earth greeting. I am Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, and who might you be?”

Shiro shook the hand as he offered a smile. “I’m Takashi Shirogane, but you can just call me Shiro.”

Coran’s eyes widened slightly as he let go of the hand and pointed. “Wait a tic,  _ you’re _ Shiro!? ” He gave a laugh as he shook the can of soda in the air. “Well, isn’t that a lucky coincidence!”

Shiro frowned. “It is?”

“I’ve been sent by King Alfor to assist Blaytz in training you new paladins,” Coran said as he shut his eyes and placed a hand over his chest. “Surely, Alfor has mentioned me.”

Shiro was going to say no, but he stopped. Now that he thought of it, he recalled Alfor and Allura mentioning a close advisor that was practically a member of the family.

“Oh, right, of course,” Shiro said as he gave a nod. “But I didn’t realize Alfor sent you.”

“It was a bit sudden,” Coran admitted as he absentmindedly shook the can back and forth. “Although, it’s not just me. King Alfor also asked Princess Allura to come.”

“Allura’s here too?” Shiro said in surprise.

It had been a few years since he and Keith had last seen her. She must have grown a lot

_ But at least Keith and I already know her, that will make things a bit easier,  _ Shiro thought.

“She’s in the hangar as we speak,” Coran said as he held up the can and proceeded to tug on the tab. “Let me just have a quick drink and we can go see her.”

Shiro cringed as he reached up. “Wait, with all that shaking that’s not-”

Green lime soda gushed out of the can and straight into Coran’s face. Within seconds, the Altean was dripping in soda. He glanced around in confusion before he licked his lips.

“That is tasty,” Coran said as he glanced to Shiro, “but perhaps I should get a towel before we go to the hangar.”

“I believe that would be wise,” Shiro said with a nod.

* * *

Hunk sighed as he crossed his arms. “Lance for the third time no.”

“Yeah,” Pidge said as they walked down the hallway. “There is no way we’re doing that. It’s a terrible idea.”

“No, it’s a  _ great _ idea,” Lance insisted as he began to walk backwards in front of them. “Blaytz said we needed to come up with some bonding activity to connect as paladins.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “And you expect us to do that...by going to a spa?”

Lance scoffed. “Of course! Nothing like getting a message and a bit of relaxation to strengthen the bonding experience.”

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “You realize going to a spa costs quite a bit of cash, right?”

Sure, Hunk had some money saved up but he was saving for a stand mixer and would rather not waste it on some kind of mud face treatment.

“Besides, nevermind us, I doubt Keith and Shiro would willingly go to one,” Pidge commented dryly. “We would probably have to tie up and drag Keith out the door.”

Lance gave a pout as he turned his back to them. “Well, I don’t hear you two coming up with any ideas.”

Hunk grimaced. “Fine, fair, the best I can think of is baking but that’s a no.”

Pidge blinked curiously. “Why? I’m not into cooking, but that’s a better idea than Lance’s suggestion.”

Hunk narrowed his eyes. “Keith told me when he was a kid, he tried to bake cookies with Shiro once and it was a disaster. Shiro may be a good pilot but he can’t cook.”

“Mullet is probably just exaggerating,” Lance replied as he shoved his hands into his pocket.

Hunk shivered. “I saw the photos.” He stared off into the distance as he recalled the photo of a sheepish Shiro holding out a tray of charcoal cookies as a small Keith was trying to wipe batter off the wall. “Still haunts me.”

“Okay, baking is out,” Pidge said as she tucked her hands behind her head and they entered the hangar. “Maybe I could just dig out some of my old video games.”

Hunk sighed. “Not sure if Shiro is into video games, but that’s better than--”

“Hold it,” Lance declared as he abruptly halted and nearly caused Hunk and Pidge to collide with him.

“What?” Pidge growled in annoyance.

Lance looked dazzled as he pointed ahead and smirked. “Who… is that cutie?”

Hunk tilted his head and looked in the direction Lance was pointing. 

There was an Altean girl standing near the Yellow Lion. She had white hair, and looked close to their age. She wore an Altean style uniform that looked similar to Alfor’s casual clothes.

_ Does she work for the Garrison?  _ Hunk thought. He couldn’t recall any Atleans working here. Some did live on Earth, like that shop in town that was run by a couple of Alteans. Hunk chatted with their daughter Romelle a few times, but this was the first time he’d seen an Altean inside the Garrison.

Pidge frowned. “Is she supposed to be in here? This is a restricted area.”

Lance smoothed back his hair. “All I care about is if she’s single.”

Hunk blinked and then groaned. “Really, Lance?”

His friend ignored him as he proceeded to strut towards the Altean.

“What is he doing?” Pidge asked.

“He’s going to try to flirt,” Hunk moaned as he rubbed his eyes. “He has a habit of trying to flirt with any cute girl he sees.”

Pidge wrinkled her nose. “Should we stop him?”

“I’ve tried but it doesn’t work,” Hunk said as he gestured for her to follow. “We better just be on the sidelines for damage control.”

They caught up to Lance just as he tapped the Altean on her shoulder.

“Hey, Beautiful,” Lance said with a wink, “need any help?”

The Altean raised an eyebrow and turned back to the lion. “No, thank you.”

“I happen to know a great deal about these lions,” Lance said as he pointed to himself.

The Altean gave him a bemused expression as she tapped her tablet. “I… somehow doubt that.”

“No, really,” Lance replied. “How about I tell you all about it over--”

“Are you allowed to be here?” The Altean briskly replied. “This area is for authorized personnel only.”

Lance jumped slightly. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting that. “Um… yeah? ”

“I require some proof then,” the Altean placed a hand on her hip. “Or perhaps I should contact the guards.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Hunk quickly jumped in front of Lance. Hoping to calm this down before it escalated into something worse. “Look, sorry about my friend, but we are allowed in here.”

The Altean blinked at Hunk and then suddenly seemed to notice Pidge. “Where did you two come from?”

“Does it matter?” Pidge asked as she crossed her arms. “Frankly, I feel like we should be asking if you’re allowed to be in here. Who are you?”

The Altean tilted her head in confusion at Pidge. “Aren’t you… a bit young to be granted access here?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Pidge argued back but was cut off by Hunk’s cough.

“Alright, let’s calm down,” he declared, “I’m sure there’s an easy way to clear this-”

“Guys!”

All heads turned as Keith entered the area and waved to them. “I’ve been thinking about what Blaytz said and I was wondering…” He froze as he spied the Altean and slowly lowered his arm. “Allura? Is that you?”

The suspicious frown disappeared and the Altean’s face brightened. “Keith!” Without a second thought, the Altean raced towards Keith and embraced him.

Keith jumped but slowly returned the hug.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” she cried. “It’s been ages.”

“Likewise,” Keith replied, “but what are you doing here?”

The Altean released him as she smiled fondly. “Father sent me, didn’t he tell you?” She held up her hand to Keith’s forehead. “You finally almost as tall as me now.”

Keith snerked. “Give me a break. My Galra genes had to kick in at some point.”

Hunk rubbed his neck. “Huh, wasn’t expecting that.”

He glanced back to Lance who was currently pouting.

“Of course she knows Keith already,” he grumbled.

Hunk resisted rolling his eyes and cleared his throat. “Hey, Keith, how about introducing us to your pal there?”

Keith glanced up and looked as if he had forgotten they were there. “Sorry,” he replied with a blush and stepped aside and gestured towards the three.

“These are some of the other new paladins, Lance, Pidge and Hunk.”

The Altean blinked and blushed as she covered her mouth. “Oh my… I’m so sorry,” she gave a quick bow to the group. “I hope you can forgive my behaviour. I had no idea you were the next paladins.”

Pidge gave a shrug. “It’s fine.” She tugged at her shirt. “We’re not in our training armour currently.”

Hunk clicked his tongue as he glanced over himself. “Yeah, and given our age I would be suspicious too.”

“Says you,” Lance said as he puffed out his chest. “I just naturally scream heroism.”

“You scream something,” Keith muttered as he rubbed his neck. “This is Allura, King Alfor’s daughter.”

Hunk blinked. “King Alfor’s… wait, so you’re a  _ princess _ ?!”

“Yes, but given the circumstances I am fine dropping the formalities,” Allura said with a smile. 

Lance raised an eyebrow. “So… you and Keith have known each other a long time?”

Keith shrugged. “King Alfor used to bring Allura to Earth a few times when he visited and we just hung out together.”

“Sssooo, you’re just old friends?” Lance asked.

“That is what we just said,” Keith replied.

Lance made a fist in the air. “Yes, still got a chance.”

“A chance in what?” Allura asked.

“An ice cube’s chance in a frying pan,” Pidge retorted. “Just ignore him. So why are you here now?”

Allura gave a smile. “As I was informing Keith, Father requested that I come and assist in your training.”

“I’m a bit surprised he only sent you,” Keith replied. “I mean, I know you’re a good fighter but I didn’t think you had much experience in this kind of thing.”

“I don’t, but I wasn’t sent alone,” Allura explained. “Coran was also sent with me.”

“And he would be?” Hunk asked as he shot Keith a questioning glance but the boy seemed just as clueless.

“One of my Father’s advisors. He organized quite a number of the Paladins training programs.” She then glanced around and frowned. “With that said, he went to find a drink over a varga ago. He should have been back by now.”

“Do you think he got lost?” Keith asked.

“I’m starting to wonder,” Allura said with a sigh. “Coran does have bad luck when it comes to directions at times.”

Lance gave a swift bow. “Well, my lady let the future Blue Paladin locate him for you.”

Allura gave a bemused smile. "Thank you, but there’s no need--”

“Nonsense,” Lance declared as he spun around on his heel and charged for the exit. “I’ll find this Coran in no time--”

He rammed right into another Altean. Shiro seemed to steady the Altean as Lance fell flat on his bottom.

“Uh, I’m back princess,” the Altean waved and pointed to Lance. “New friend?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Keith muttered as he massaged his forehead.

Allura cleared her throat. “Coran, I have just met the new paladins.”

The man blinked and gave a quick bow as Shiro helped Lance to his feet. “Ah, lovely. I am Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton--”

“We already know your name is Coran,” Hunk quickly injected. “Um, I’m Hunk, that’s Pidge, Keith, Lance, and looks like you already met Shiro.”

Coran nodded. “Yes, he was kind enough to assist me in acquiring a drink from that very dangerous machine.”

“Dangerous?” Keith muttered and then crossed his arms and gave Shiro a look. “You went to the ‘death machine’ again?”

Shiro shrugged. “It has the best lime soda.”

Allura clapped her hands. “Well, now that we have all met perhaps you can show us how Blaytz has been training you.”

Coran nodded. “Yes, I would have asked Blaytz myself but I haven’t been able to locate him.”

“Last I saw he was talking with Kolivan,” Keith said with a shrug. “Sounded like they wanted to be prepared for that upcoming visit with Zarkon.”

Allura frowned. “Zarkon? I wasn’t aware he was due for another visit.”

“He’s supposed to be bringing Shiro his new arm so he can fly the Black Lion,” Pidge said as she crossed her arms and gave a pout. “Wish I could see the design for the thing. I know Dad said Zarkon’s wife is apparently a brilliant scientist but I don’t know much else.”

“I see,” Allura muttered and frowned thoughtfully before shaking her head. “I’ll have to speak to Blaytz about that later.”

Lance straightened his posture. “In the meantime, how about we show you our fast moves?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You’re that eager to show how fast you land on your butt?”

Lance growled. “I wouldn’t be if someone knew how to give clear directions--”

“How about we just give them a tour of the place,” Shiro swiftly cut in and looked to Coran. “We can fill you in on what we’ve been training on in the meantime.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Coran said as he brought out a tablet. “And if you could show me where to find a dorsal injector that would be grand?” He laughed. “I can't imagine doing sparring without that.”

The paladins exchanged baffled expressions until Keith replied, “We have no idea what that is?”

Coran’s eyes widened, glanced to Allura who merely shrugged in response. He then sighed as he rubbed his neck. “This will be a long trip indeed.”

* * *

“This place is boring,” Ezor said as she sipped her (to her estimation) subpar drink. Pointedly ignoring the crash of a nearby window as yet another wannabe brawler was (ahem) shown the way out by Zethrid. 

“These people are all milk drinkers,” Zethrid sniffed in agreement as she returned to her seat, “One solid hit and they crumple up.”

“To be fair, one solid hit from you could crumple anything up.” Ezor waited for an overworked waiter to pass by before carefully swapping her old drink for a new one on the tray he held. The man walked on, not having noticed a thing. She sighed in disappointment as her gaze ran over the many heads crammed into the nunvilery, “Not a sharp eye amongst them.”

“To be fair,” Zethrid repeated meaningfully, “it wouldn’t matter much if there were with you here.”

Ezor smirked, “Flatterer.”

She sipped at the new drink, paused, and poured the rest out on the floor before groaning.

“Still no good?”

“It tastes like engine oil and swamp water, you tell me.”

“I could have a  _ chat  _ with the barman.” Zethrid suggested giving a toothy grin at the man's back..

Ezor sighed. Normally Zethrids desire for needless mayhem cheered her up, but sadly the effect was being dampened by bad booze, a poor atmosphere, and the fact that they were both swimming in debt. Not that being in debt mattered much. No debt collector had ever managed to get a cent out of either of the two women.

However they WERE broke. That was why Ezor had resorted to snatching drinks off trays and eating the half eaten leftovers on tables. Zethrid had been attempting to get some information about potential work, but… well, neither of them were really person people.

Oh, they got along with their contacts just fine. There was something about crime that forged connections between people. Loose, fragile, connections based on mutual benefit and tinged with betrayal, but connections nonetheless. However, none of that really mattered when the big money these days came from underhanded traders, politicians, and soldiers with a flexible moral backbone.

It didn’t help that a lot of the work they used to do was being snatched up by some pirate syndicate called The Death Stormers. They had big ships, lots of resources, and plenty of firepower. The group had been climbing the ladder of the universes criminal underbelly for the past few years, and were slowly beginning to overtake even the oldest smuggling rings. 

Given that kind of resume it wasn’t surprising most of the lucrative clientele went with the big bad space pirates instead of little old Ezor, Zethrid, and--

Ezor pinched the bridge of her nose before she could think of her.

“Nah,” she shook her head. “Even if it tastes like slop, I dunno if we should burn another bridge.”

“Or another building.” 

They both laughed at the memory and stopped with a sigh.

“She got so mad at us.” Zethrid muttered, “What d’ya think she's doing?”

Ezor scowled, “What does that matter? She’s not here with us is she?"

She didn’t give her partner time to respond before going on.

“The moment things started getting a bit too tough what does she do? WHAT DOES SHE DO?!” Zethrid didn’t get to form an answer, “Goes off to some backwater world to get a  _ real job  _ because she ‘just can’t take it anymore’!”

Ezor snatched another drink from a passing waiter and downed it in one go. This time the waiter noticed.

“Hey--”

The poor man never got to finish as Zethrid’s fist made contact with his nose. Knocking him out instantly. The room went silent for a moment, before everyone went right back to their conversation.

Ezor grabbed the drink of the passed out slob sitting in the seat next to her and downed that.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Zethrid suggested, “You’re already pretty upset.”

“Oh,” Ezor slammed down the glass, “I’m upset am I? One of our so called friends just takes off and abandons us, and I’m  _ upset _ .”

Zethrid frowned, “I didn’t mean--”

“I  _ know _ you didn’t,” Ezor snapped uncontrollably, “I just… I don’t see  _ why _ .”

She rested her head in her arms.

“It's not like things’ll change. I know what people say, but it’s all bunk. There’s nowhere in the universe for people like  _ us _ . Doesn’t matter what far off planet we duck into.”

Zethrid watched her for a moment before hesitatingly placing a comforting hand on Ezor’s shoulder. She avoided saying ‘there there’ knowing full well it’d probably just make things worse.

Ezor sniffed, “What kinda dumb name for a planet is E-arth anyway?”

“I think it’s pronounced Earth.”

“What?” Ezor raised her head slightly, “But there’s an 'A' in it!”

Zethrid shrugged.

Groaning, Ezor straightened herself and played absentmindedly with the glass in front of her.

“Well however you pronounce it, it’s still just some backwater planet.”

“A lot of galra have been moving there though.” Zethrid pointed out, “Lotsa half galra too.”

“Oh boy, a real family reunion huh?” Ezor stopped and looked thoughtful, “What day is it?”

“Yazef.”

“No, I mean like, numerically.”

Zethrid thought about it, “Dunno, why d’ya ask?”

Ezor creased her brow, “Has that holiday started up?”

“What holiday?”

“Don’t be stupid Zethrid, you know the one.” Ezor huffed, “That silly one they make such a big deal about on Daibazaal. Take a whole week off for it. Some big tourney at the start. All about some long dead Emperor or whatever.”

“Oh, that one.” She paused, “I think it's called Brazar or something like that.”

Ezor nodded as she continued playing with the glass. She’d heard the galra on Earth had started celebrating it themselves, completely separate from Daibazaal. How they managed that, she didn’t know, given that Daibazaals tournament actually  _ required  _ a member of their hoity-toity royal family to attend. It was an excellent way for them to flex their muscles, she supposed. An occasion to pretend they were worth something outside of looking pretty in public and making wordsy contrived speeches.

Of course now she who-shall-remain-nameless was living it up on E-arth or Earth or whatever and was probably going to take part in whatever big party they were having. Ezor had heard a bit about the celebrations they'd started up. Supposedly some of the more traditional galra who had visited thought little of some of the changes.

Her mind dwelled on all the things she’d heard.

Zethrid’s ears twitched when there was a sudden clink. 

Ezor had let go of the glass and was staring at it intently.

“Zethrid,” she began, “they have a tournament for Bragart or whatever its called on Earth now right?”

“I think I heard something about that.”

Ezor clicked her tongue, “What do you get if you win?”

* * *

When Krolia entered the training room, she had expected to see the new paladins sparring with each other or perhaps in the middle of a training exercise. 

Seeing Shiro in his civilian clothes standing in the centre of the room with a helmet filled with little bits of paper as the other paladins surrounded him was the last thing she expected to see.

Keith noticed her and gave a small wave. “Oh, hey, Mom. I didn’t think you were off for another hour.”

“I worked through lunch to get it done early,” Krolia asked as she approached. “What are you doing?”

“Choosing a bonding activity,” Lance said with a shrug.

Krolia raised an eyebrow as she looked at Shiro. “You’re choosing a bonding activity by drawing one out of a hat?”

Shiro sighed. “Not exactly.” He held up the helmet. “We had trouble agreeing on what we should do, so we decided we would draw names.”

“And by ‘we’ he means him,” Hunk whispered but glanced away when Shiro raised an eyebrow.

“Whoever gets picked,” he continued, “decides on what we’ll do.” Shiro shot a stern look at the group. “And there will be no complaining from anyone no matter what the activity is.”

There were a few groans, but they were silent as Shiro shot another glare.

“I see,” Krolia asked as she crossed her arms. “So, who got picked?”

“Was just about to find out,” Shiro adjusted the helmet in his prosthetic arm and slowly moved to select one of the papers.

Krolia’s eyes softened. It was probably driving Shiro crazy training with only one working arm. The temporary prosthetic the Garrison provided was enough for Shiro to get by, but it was old and clunky and not efficient enough for all that a paladin of voltron would endure. She only hoped that the more advanced arm Zarkon had promised would arrive soon.

Shiro unfurled the name as he cleared his throat. “And it looks like it’s--”

“Spa day, spa day,” Lance chanted under his breath.

“Keith,” Shiro announced with a bemused smile.

Lance moaned as he buried his face into his hands. “Nnnooo.”

Keith cringed slightly. “Me? Can’t I just pass?”

“Yes, on to me,” Lance said eagerly gesturing at himself.

“Nope,” Shiro said firmly as he pointed at Keith. “We all agreed. No passing and no complaining. Next time we draw, we’ll take your name out so you won’t be picked again, but today you decide for us.”

Keith groaned as Krolia chuckled. Keith really did remind her of herself when she was younger.

Keith pouted and rubbed his neck. “I guess, we could all go hiking or something?”

Lance stuck out his tongue. “Oh, yay, lots of walking and bug bites. Fun times.”

“Hey, it could be fun if we do a picnic too,” Hunk chimed in.

“Yeah, I guess,” Keith shrugged. “I’ll try to have something figured out by tomorrow.”

Krolia tilted her head. “Uh… no, you won’t. Tomorrow will be busy enough as is.”

Keith blinked as he lowered his hand. “Why? Tomorrow is Saturday and we’re not working. We have the whole day free.”

Krolia gave her son an odd look.

“What?” Keith said blankly.

“Keith,” Krolia said with the slow patience of a parent, “have you forgotten? Tonight is the beginning of Blazar.”

Keith stared at his mother dumbly for a long moment, before a sudden look of embarrassed shame crawled onto his face, “What? It’s tonight?! Already?!”

“You really managed to forget?” There was a kind of dry humor in her voice as she spoke. “It’s only been on the calendar all year.”

“I-It’s just been so busy!” Keith defended with a high pitched squeak in his voice, “There was the business with the lions, a-and then the training, and all this bonding stuff.”

“What’re you guys talking about?” Pidge asked, “What’s,” she paused to make sure she got the pronunciation right, “Bla-zar?”

“A galran holiday,” Shiro placed a hand over his eyes, “A big one. I’m sorry Krolia, I forgot as well. I should have remembered for both me and Keith.”

“Nonsense Shiro. Only one of you has been celebrating it since he was a toddler.”

“You guys have holidays?” The question was out before Lance could stop himself. It was a stupid question. One look from Shiro told him that.

“Yes, Lance,” Keith said sardonically, “we have holidays.”

Keith ran a hand through his hair and looked at the nearest clock. They had time to get ready and get there, but not for much else. He didn’t like the idea of ditching the others, but he couldn’t see what else there was to do.

“What kind of holiday is it?” Hunk asked.

Krolia paused, trying to think of the quickest way to explain, “It’s a long holiday. Roughly about one earth week. We’ve been celebrating it a bit differently here on Earth than it is traditionally done on Daibazaal. But… essentially, I suppose you could call tonights little get together as being sort of like Thanksgiving. Or a family reunion. Though almost all of us aren’t related by blood.”

“So you guys are going off to see a bunch of other galra?”

“More or less. Many of them are galra I have worked with closely in the garrison and up on the station. There aren’t any open facilities at the garrison for us to use, so we usually meet at a spot in the desert.”

“The Garrison won’t let you use any of its facilities for a little party?” Lance asked, “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It was frustrating for the first few years,” Krolia admitted, “however in the end we found the desert to be more agreeable. Less of a chance for property damage that way.”

Hunk’s eyes widened a little, and was about to ask what Krolia meant by “property damage” when Keith spoke, “I’m sorry guys, we’ll have to figure out something to do later. I have to go get ready.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lance said grabbing Keith by the sleeve just as he was turning away, “not so fast hotshot. When exactly is later gonna be?”

“Later is  _ later _ .” Keith snapped impatiently.

“I dunno, I mean you did just manage to forget a major holiday.” Pidge said thoughtfully adjusting her glasses, “Doesn’t really give the impression that you’re great with dates and times.”

“All of us managed to think up bonding activities to do with each other. Some of them way cooler and awesome than others, but whatever,” Lance jabbed a finger at Keith, “But now that it’s  _ your  _ turn you're just gonna wiggle out of it?”

“What do you expect me to  _ do _ ?” Keith demanded.

Krolia looked thoughtful for a minute, “Well…” she began ponderously.

They all looked at her.

“They could just come with us.”

“Wha-” Keith stammered and then hissed, “Mom,  _ no _ .”

“Why not?” She shrugged, “I am certain the others would not mind. In fact, I imagine they would be excited to meet the new paladins. Besides, it would hardly be the first time anyone took guests. We’ve taken Shiro more than once.”

“That’s not the point!” Keith hissed his cheeks growing slightly pink.

“Wait wait, are you serious?” Lance asked a slight tinge of excitement in his voice, “We’d get to go to some awesome alien desert party?

“Quite serious,” Krolia smiled. “There’s a bonfire and everything.”

Keith shouted, “Mom!”

“What’s this gonna be like catering wise?” Hunk asked. Lance’s excitement could be contagious, “Is it like a potluck?”

“More or less. Lots of barbequing and the like. We try to recreate Daibaazillian cuisine as best we can, but it’s not easy with earth ingredients.”

“Oh, I am definitely going.” Hunk said with finality.

“Do I not have any say in this?!” Keith demanded.

“Nope,” Pidge said bluntly with a smirk. Then she frowned and asked Krolia suspiciously, “Is there a dress code?”

“We couldn’t enforce one if we tried.”

That seemed to more or less settle the matter. Although Keith still opened his mouth to argue, only to be stopped by Shiro.

“Don’t fight it,” he soothed. “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

Keith pouted and crossed his arms stubbornly, "For you maybe." 

* * *

The Coliseum’s floor was nearly vibrating. The voices of the galra in the stands were nothing but a dull hum to Lotor, but he could still feel the collective force of their voices rising up through his boots. By the time the matches got started in earnest, anyone with weak legs might have trouble standing.

Blazar wasn’t their holiest day, or the most historically significant, but it had stuck with the galran people for centuries now. Lotor fancied it had a lot to do with the sheer spectacle of the tournament as well as the universality of the celebration. It was one of the few traditions on Daibazaal that could be observed by all galra of different rank.

Not quite  _ equally _ , but close.

The idea that the tournament was more or less nothing but a bloodsport was an opinion typically formed by uninformed offworlders. Lotor could recall having to frequently correct the Alteans he had known growing up as to the exact nature of the holiday. The closest he could ever get to making them understand was that it was like sparring but with an audience. Even then they could never quite grasp the  _ why  _ behind the celebration. Only Allura had really understood the tradition, but even then she had always had a vaguely hidden distaste for the central attraction.

Altea had competitive sparring and fencing, but they existed largely in an educational environment. Practitioners advanced by earning points for skill rather than ensuring their opponents defeat. The idea of holding such matches in a large stadium rather than a private gymnasium was unthinkable to Alteans. To them, combat was a necessity or a last resort, and not something to be cheered over and encouraged for sport.

It was one of the differences between his mother’s and father’s peoples that were irreconcilable. 

It was why Allura had never understood how badly Lotor had wanted to train with his father. King Alfor was kind and tried to understand, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Even his mother, who had lived on Daibazaal for some years, couldn’t fully understand.

The only person in his immediate sphere who  _ could  _ potentially understand was his father and he was his biggest obstacle on the subject. He had the final say on anything regarding Lotor’s involvement in combat. His training, what fights he could partake in, who he could and couldn’t command, etc. And the decisions his father made on the subject were absolute and almost always firmly placed in the realm of the word “No”.

It was infuriating.

Honerva insisted that Zarkon made these decisions out of protectiveness and a desire to keep him safe, but Lotor couldn’t help but think that that was just a convenient excuse. More likely, his father feared the embarrassment he might experience should his son accept a challenge and lose. As his only son and heir, everything Lotor did reflect on his father in some way. Giving Zarkon plenty of reason to hold him back.

Only recently had Lotor managed to convince him to give him a command of his own. Normally, as the Prince, he’d have received command over at least a small troupe the moment he’d turned eighteen. However, rather than receiving command of even a small waylay station Lotor had found himself being carted around the empire and passed around by his father’s Commanders.

It had been a major disappointment. Still, he’d made due by meeting the leaders of many of the planets under the Empires command, speaking to them on official matters, and sending reports of their grievances to his father. It wasn’t glorious work, but it kept him busy and was far better than sitting around sharpening his blade.

Perhaps it was because of this that, the last time he had brought the issue of being given someone, anyone, to command, Zarkon had gone silent and unexpectedly agreed. His face had been strange, as though thinking of some private joke, but he had  _ agreed _ . Then he’d said Lotor could assume command over an officer of his own the day they left for Earth.

The sudden agreement had surprised him. Lotor had been preparing a whole list of arguments in his head before breaching the topic with the expectation that his father would argue. When he almost immediately caved, Lotor had actually been somewhat suspicious. Specifically of what, he couldn’t name, however after a bit of time he ultimately decided not to look a gifted yupper in the maw.

He’d wanted an official subordinate and his father had agreed to assign him one. No reason to go overcomplicating things and stirring the pot. Especially not with their mission to Earth to worry about immediately after the tournament.

The tournament…

Lotor sighed as he neared the Emperor’s official observation booth steeling himself for the many hours of boredom that lay ahead. 

One wouldn’t think overseeing a fighting tournament could be boring, but years of watching his father’s men fight each other had long since destroyed the novelty. He knew all the usual strategies by sight, and how they would usually be countered. It made the whole thing rather boring. 

Every fight boiled down to who was the strongest, fastest, and most willing to break bones. Lotor had long ago found that he could practically predict every fight he watched unfold in front of him. His father could do the same thing, but somehow never seemed to tire of watching. When Lotor had pointed out the repetitiveness of it all, Zarkon had only said his son was focusing on the wrong thing and that one could learn a lot about people by watching how they battled.

_ Of course, he would say something like that, _ Lotor thought exasperated as he turned into the booth,  _ it’s the only way he ever seems to think. _

He stopped in the doorway.

The Emperor’s personal booth (or rather  _ balcony _ ) was supposed to be empty. There were going to be guards of course, but they were supposed to come later. Filing onto the balcony in a showy and official manner. Lotor was only here now because he hated the idea of standing in the hall rather than sitting in the large comfortable chair built for people twice his size waiting to stride out confidently. He’d expected to have a few moments by himself.

What he hadn’t expected was to find Commander Morvok of all people, actually sitting in his, or rather his father’s, seat. He’d yet to notice the Prince and was staring smugly down at the heads of all the people in the stadium. Clearly imagining himself as the almighty ruler of them all.

Lotor didn’t like Commander Morvok, which he didn’t feel the least ashamed about. Mainly because very few people did. 

Morvok had been in the military since Lotor was a child. He’d initially gotten in by a recommendation by his high noble family and proceeded to build a career for himself and rise up through the ranks. His means of doing that, at least as far as Lotor had heard, involved coddling up to the highest-ranking person in the room and consistently placing himself in the least perilous position on every conceivable mission. 

“Low risk, big reward” might as well have been the man’s modus operandum and a mix of strategic brown-nosing, embellished reporting, and a lot of sheer dumb luck had somehow landed him a position as Commander of an incredibly small fleet. 

He didn’t get trusted with much, but he didn’t have to be. All Morvok had to do to keep the position was ensure he was competent enough at his basic responsibilities, cause no trouble, and give Zarkon no reason to remove him. As long as he did that, he’d have a guaranteed seat at every feast and royal occasion until he died.

Clicking his tongue, Lotor walked up behind the seat and leaned his elbow on the side looking down at the Commander. 

Morvok was too wrapped up in some fantasy of his own to see him. 

“Ahh,” he sighed leaning back, “I could get used to this.”

Schooling his tone, Lotor said, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Oho yes, I-” Reality came crashing down around Morvok almost instantly. He turned slowly to see Lotor leaning casually over him giving him a smile that contained absolutely no goodwill.

“Good evening, Commander.”

The Prince was surprised he didn’t hear a sonic boom given the speed with which Morvok left the chair and took a position standing at attention at the armrest.

“Your highness!” Morvok laughed nervously, “You are, uh, you are early. The opening ceremony doesn’t begin for another--”

“What are you doing here?” Lotor demanded.

“I, ah, well,” Morvok cleared his throat, though his voice somehow still managed to be a high pitched squeak, “I have been ordered by the most esteemed, honorable, excellent Emperor to take up my new post immediately.”

“How interesting,” Lotor said coldly. “Then perhaps you should go and do that instead of whatever,” he gestured vaguely at the chair, “that was.”

Morvok didn’t move. He didn’t even seem all that afraid. Instead, he seemed… awkward?

He cleared his throat, “I, uh, I already am… my Prince.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Has the Emperor not informed you? I have been reassigned under your command… Prince.”

Lotor probably would have focused more on the clearly deliberate pauses before his title, if it hadn’t been for the rest of the sentence. 

“My command?” Lotor asked slowly.

The image of his father’s amused face came to mind.

“Oh yes! I must say it is an honor to be given such a, ah,  _ desirable  _ position.” The smug forced grin the little toadie gave him made Lotor’s skin crawl.

Lotor resisted the urge to collapse into the chair as he took his seat. 

Honestly, he should have seen it coming. Zarkon had agreed much too easily. However, he couldn’t have accounted for the possibility that his father might actually have a sense of irony.

He wished Narti was here with him. She would always make the kind of comments Lotor wished he could say aloud. Sadly, this was one of the few occasions where Narti was absolutely forbidden to accompany him. Having her at his side during a public appearance like this one wouldn’t fly over well with the rest of the court.

Lotor rubbed his temples and tried to process exactly where he could go from here. He could confront his father about this little joke, and see about getting him to assign him a less incompetent lackey. On the other hand, Zarkon would probably get high and mighty about the whole thing and smugly point out that he had given Lotor exactly what he’d asked for. Worse, he might use the whole thing as evidence Lotor wasn’t  _ mature  _ enough for a subordinate.

_ Young Prince Lotor gets exactly what he asks for and still complains, _ Lotor thought bitterly.

No. No! He’d call his father’s bluff!

As much as it pained him to do so, he’d have to live with Morvok as his follower. At least for now. Once his father got over his little joke, he would see how professionally Lotor was handling the whole thing and assign him someone more competent.

“I suppose this means you will be accompanying father and I to Earth.” Lotor sighed resignedly. He might as well make conversation. Especially considering he was bound to be trapped with Morvok for the foreseeable future. 

“Oh yes, your fath- I mean, the  _ Emperor _ , expressly told me so.”

So his father had already made that decision for him? Fantastic. 

“I do not suppose you have ever been to Earth before?”

“Never, your highness!” Morvok said proudly, as though it was something to boast about, “It is a very primitive world I am given to understand. Why they have only just achieved space travel!”

“They breached their atmosphere some time ago,” Lotor corrected. “An impressive feat given that they had not made contact previously and hadn’t access to any of the same resources most of the prominent space-faring races utilized to accomplish the same thing.”

“Perhaps,” the commander sounded a bit put down, but quickly rebounded. “Even so, it took them forever to make first contact.”

“Considering how far out it is and that Earth is the only habitable planet in their system, that can hardly be chalked up as a failing on their part.”

Morvok frowned, clearly frustrated that Lotor wasn’t playing up to him. Normally, the prince wouldn’t bother challenging these sorts of attitudes. Every single major spacefaring race in the known universe had people amongst their ranks who shared the exact same sentiment.

Even on Altea, Lotor had heard the hushed whispers in regards to the Galra. 

How they had only ever managed to breach space travel by repurposing the technology of more advanced races who came to their planet. How their part of space could never sustain any sort of peace agreement beyond a certain number of years so they’d resorted to just taking everyone over. How their current rise in technology was entirely attributed to the Emperor taking an Altean wife, etc etc.

All of it technically true while willfully ignoring all the subtle nuances.

Which made it all the more ironic when the Galra would say the same exact thing about everyone else, including Altea.

How the Alteans couldn’t manage to adapt to the drastic environmental changes on their homeworld so they were forced to terraform. How they couldn’t win most battles so they resorted to making clever deals instead. How many of their trade and exploration ships would never have survived in the most hostile parts of space if it weren’t for the defense provided by Galran scientists, etc etc.

There were only so many times Lotor could hear the same arguments with different words and still be expected to take them seriously.

“Besides,” Lotor went on with a purposely light tone, “I am given to understand many of our own people have taken up residence on the planet.”

It was not a popular topic with his father. It was not a popular topic with most people in the central court. Which was why Lotor had brought it up.

There was no idle conversation topic that could show you what a person was like than an incredibly controversial one.

Morvok sniffed, “Yes, many members of the lower castes have fled that way.”

“Not just of the lower caste I hear.” Lotor pushed, “Scientists, traders, craftsmen, many of the soldiers.”

He deliberately paused for half a tick.

Morvok predictably took advantage.

“Yes, yes, but, of course, they would  _ need _ to flock to such a far-out planet. I mean, if they can’t make it here I am certain they’ll have no other choice but to flock to somewhere with lower standards.”

Lotor resisted the urge to respond by asking why the  _ commander _ hadn’t flocked to Earth then.

Instead, he said, “High ranking and very successful people have ‘fled’ there though. I had a look at the documentation. Individuals in question involved one of our better medical officers, Ranveig’s previous Lieutenant, even a Commander I believe.”

In truth, Lotor couldn’t actually remember any of their names clearly. He had only had time to flick through the documents and note the lost talent. However, the mention of the Commander was enough to send Morvok over the edge.

“Well, documentation can’t tell you everything,” He snorted contemptuously. Lotor was about to smile and abandon the topic in favor of waiting for the ceremony to start, but couldn’t help but overhear what Morvok muttered under his breath. “Not that you understand anything about it.”

If Lotor had been any other Prince in the history of the Empire, he would have been quite justified in hitting Morvok upside the head and threatening serious bodily harm over that sneered comment. However, he wasn’t any other Prince and he couldn’t get away with the same things his predecessors had. So he filed the comment away in his mind for future reference and continued to play the long game.

Apparently eager to continue the illusion of a fresh keen subordinate, Morvok went on, “Supposedly the galra on Earth have begun to hold their own Blazar celebration including a tournament.”

“Have they now?” Lotor responded robotically.

“It’s not possibly as grand as this. Likely just a few poorly trained commoners wrestling in the mud,” He nearly chuckled at the image, “They haven’t an Emperor or a member of the royal family to overlook the whole affair, so it’s not like its official. I hear they allow just anyone to take part. No filter to keep out the riff-raff.”

Lotor just hummed in response, no longer interested.

Thankfully the opening ceremony began.

Lights lit up the pit in the coliseum as all the participants in the tournament funneled into the field and lined up in neat rows facing towards the Emperor’s booth. Guards came in from the door behind Lotor and stood along the edge facing outwards. As the accompanying music reached its zenith, Lotor stood up and strode to the edge looking down at the participants and all his subjects looking up at him in the crowd.

The sound of cheering voices actually seemed to increase to the point that Lotor visibly flinched at the sudden onslaught. Only years of experience in such situations prevented him from covering his years as Morvok was now doing. He raised a hand and waited the full few minutes it took for the crowd to quiet enough for him to speak.

“My people--,” Lotor was forced to stop short as the cries started up again.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Morvok gape at the crowd with both hands still firmly clamped over his ears. Lotor rolled his eyes. It was like the man had never been in a crowd before.

Giving an extra few minutes for the crowd to quiet down, again, he began once more.

“My people, on behalf of my father, our great emperor, allow me to be the one to open the first rounds of the tournament!” Another round of cheers ran through the coliseum, though they weren’t as loud as they had been before. “Today we open the first day of Blazar where we remember those who have furthered our Empire with their steadfast strength and power. All while remembering that such individuals can arise from anywhere.”

This, of course, was ridiculous. It was true that anyone of any rank could join the military, and anyone of sufficient rank could take partake the tournament, However, very few galra born in the lower castes made it to the final rounds and, to Lotor’s knowledge, very few to no half galra ever participated in the competition.

Likely they were amongst the riff raff that people like Morvok filtered out.

There had been one or two flukes in the past. Or what his fellow nobility tended to think of as flukes anyway. Which mostly amounted to anyone who couldn’t name the exact identity, position, and manner of death of their great grandfather winning over them at  _ anything _ .

There’d been a low born Commander whose name he couldn’t recall. Sendak was counted as such until it came out he was being trained by Zarkon himself, and noone had the guts to say anything about him after learning that. Finally there had been one notable soldier decades ago who made a name for himself for his skill in dual-wielding and having developed a unique technique that allowed to break several of his opponents bones at once. No one had ever managed to replicate the skillset, and the man in question had never taken on any students. So everyone he had defeated felt quite safe in the casual assurance that his victories had been because of the low quality of the recruits at the time.

(All while ignoring that the ‘low quality recruits’ had included his father, the current Emperor).

“May this competition show us that these traditions live on for generations to come, and may our future warriors and leaders be born anew amongst these proud and honorable warriors.”

The crowd exploded again as Lotor stepped away from the edge. A clear sign that the speech was complete.

“Excellent speech, your highness.” Morvok said in a giddy greasy voice that made the Prince want to puke.

“Truly?” Lotor said flatly as he settled in as the first of many uneventful repetitive rounds began, “I would have said it was a tad contrived coming from anyone else.”

He derived some enjoyment from the way Morvok’s face contorted as the commander tried to process the sentence. Doubtless, he was struggling to think up a suitably sycophantic response to such a humbling statement. Morvok probably wasn’t used to anything less than pure self-adoration from his superiors.

As he watched some poor naive Lieutenant getting thrown across the arena by a nobleman’s son twice his size, Lotor wondered if he would ever be allowed the chance to show his people just what their Prince was capable of outside of looking pretty in public and making wordsy contrived speeches on the fly.

If his father had any say in the matter, probably not.

* * *

“Here we are,” Krolia declared as they reached the entrance and Kosmo barked happily. “We’ll head towards the tables, that’s where we’re supposed to meet everyone else.”

Pidge frowned as she glanced around the few groups of other Galra. “I’ve got to admit, I thought there would be a lot more Galra here.”

Keith sighed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh, there will be trust me. We’re just early. In a few hours, this place will be filled to the brim.”

“He’s right,” Shiro said as he looked to Krolia. “I swear there are more Galra here then there are at the Garrison.”

Krolia smirked as she lead the way as they walked past some Galra setting up tables. “There probably are considering not every Galra that comes to Earth decides to join the Garrison.” 

“Nothing like food and a party to bring everyone together in my experience,” Hunk muttered and looked to Keith. “I’m still surprised Allura and Coran didn’t tag along.”

Keith shrugged. “I invited them, but Allura said they had to finish moving into their new living quarters.”

“Aren’t they staying at the Garrison?” Lance asked.

“It was an option, but they both preferred to find a living space off the base,” Shiro explained. “Not that I blame them. The Garrison living quarters aren’t very big.”

Krolia had to agree with that. She recalled there was a time after her husband died that she debated moving her and Keith into the base, but she quickly realized it was better for her son to get the wide open space he was used to living with.

Lance pointed to the set of blue banners flapping in the breeze. “I got to admit this seems a lot more bright than I expected.” He rubbed his neck. “Uh, no offense but from the photos I’ve seen most Galra tend to go with shades of purple right?”

“You’re mostly right,” Krolia said. “The sky on Daibazaal is rather dark in colour so they tend to prefer muted colors, but the Galra here would rather embrace Earth’s natural blue sky and colorful fauna.”

Keith frowned as he moved up. “You’ve always said that Mom, but now that I think about it I never really got why. I mean, wouldn’t a lot of Galra who move here want to remember parts of the homeworld.”

Krolia narrowed her eyes. “Well, that’s a bit--”

Suddenly, Kosmo barked and teleported ahead. Krolia looked ahead and tried not to laugh as Kosmo appeared in midair and almost knocked Thace onto the ground.

Antok chuckled as he waved to her. “I see you brought the mutt along again.”

“It’s not like we could leave him behind if we wanted to,” Krolia replied.

“It’s fine,” Ulaz said as he patted Kosmo’s head. “Antok is just paranoid he’ll steal his food like last year.”

Antok grumbled as he glanced over to Keith and held a hand above his head. “Finally grew another inch did you?”

Keith rolled his eyes as he batted the hand away and shoved his hands into his pockets again. “You say that every year. I’m not that short.”

Thace gave a laugh. “Oh, we noticed and so have the children.”

Keith froze at that. “What do you mean by that?”

Thace gave a slight smirk. “I recently showed you a photo and they believe your ‘tall’ enough to tackle.”

Keith paled as he pointed to himself. “Wait… you’re not saying…”

“Consider this payback for the years you attacked me,” Antok said in amusement.

Keith cringed as Hunk frowned. “Um...am I missing something here?”

“Just wait,” Krolia said as she patted his shoulder. “It’ll make sense in a minute.”

“No, it won’t,” Keith said as he pointed to himself, “because I am not sticking around long enough to--” 

“KEITH!”

Suddenly, three small Galran children appeared and tackled Keith to the ground. Kosmo barked and wagged his tail as his owner struggled to get up.

The Galran children laughed as they tried holding Keith down.

“See, Yorak! Told you we would finally be able to pin him this year!” one of the kids declared.

“Yeah, we might even be able to keep him pinned for five minutes!” the other declared.

“No, you’re not,” Keith grunted as he managed to barely sit up and glanced to his would-be uncles. “Help me out here!”

Thace chuckled. “What and ruin the children’s challenge? We’re no longer their target, now it’s your turn.”

Keith grumbled but sighed in defeat as the children laughed.

Hunk tilted his head and glanced to Krolia. “So… when you said ‘property damage’ before you meant this?”

“More or less,” Krolia said, not hiding her amusement. “On the homeworld, it’s a bit more restrained but here we tend to get a bit enthusiastic with each other.”

“There is often a game of the younger Galra trying to take on the older ones in a mock battle as they arrive. To show off how much they’ve grown,” Ulaz explained.

Lance whistled as he waved at the kid. “Hey, if you guys can keep him still long enough for a photo I’ll buy you three ice cream.”

The kids eyes widened in excitement as Keith glared.

“You’re on!” the kids laughed.

“I am going to kill you,” Keith grumbled.

“My ghost won’t care once I get this photo,” Lance snickered as he took out his phone. “This is priceless.”

“Do have to agree here,” Pidge chuckled as she brought out her own phone.

Hunk frowned thoughtfully as Keith was just able to stand despite having a child on each arm and one clinging to his back. 

“Not going to lie,” Hunk said as he pointed “but they remind me of bear cubs.”

“You’re not wrong,” Krolia muttered. “You should see the photos I have of Keith doing the same thing to his dad when he was little.” She then glanced around. “Where is Acxa? I don’t see her.”

“I don’t know,” Thace said with a shrug. “I did let her know she was welcome to join us, but she said she probably would be kept busy.”

Krolia sighed. “That’s too bad.” She had been hoping to finally properly introduce her to Keith. Krolia didn’t know much about her. Acxa never spoke of her family or her life before joining the Garrison. However, it was clear she was half Galra and was close to Keith’s age. She also seemed to be even more of a loner than Keith was at times.

Her son had grown up with plenty of Galra and humans around him, but most of the other half galra were either far older or younger than him. Discovering a half Galra that was close to his age was such a rare opportunity. Krolia couldn’t help by think it'd have been useful for both Acxa and Keith to meet each other. Even if they didn’t become friends, just knowing the other existed might bring them both some comfort. 

Oh well, maybe next time they could meet.

At the same moment, Keith finally managed to free himself from the children.

“Starting to wonder if I should have just stayed home,” Keith grumbled as he rotated his shoulders.

“We would have found you,” Yurak said firmly.

Keith rolled his eyes as he spotted Kolivan approaching them and relaxed as he spotted a familiar smaller Galra with him.

“Regris,” he greeted with a smile as he gave a small wave. “Been a while. I thought you had to stay on the station.”

The Galra waved back as he moved up to Keith’s side. “I managed to get permission to leave,” Regris said as he patted Keith’s shoulder. “I see you got tackled.”

Keith sighed. “Yeah, it looks like it… wait.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why are you with Kolivan?”

Regris should have been hanging out with his parents. There was no need to be with Kolivan.

Regris fidgeted and looked away. “Uh well…”

“We met in the parking lot,” Kolivan said in a deadpan tone as he crossed his arms. “He was hiding behind the garbage can.”

Keith blinked, groaned and looked to Regris in dismay. “You tried to tackle Kolivan again?”

He had hoped Regris had finally given up on that dream. 

“I was close,” Regris whispered. “If you helped me I bet we could take him.”

Keith rubbed his eyes. “No because I’m not ten anymore and also I like living.”

The last time they had done it they had taken Kolivan by surprise and were frankly lucky he hadn’t accidentally broken their wrists.

“If you boys are done plotting,” Kolivan cut in so abruptly that it caused the both of them to jump, “Keith, may I have a private word with you.”

Keith frowned, glanced at his mother who gave a nod before he looked back to the large Galra. “Uh, sure.”

“We won’t be long,” Kolivan said as he led the way.

The older Galra watched them with interest and it ended up being Antok that broke the silence. “Anyone up for a barbecue?”


	2. Chapter 2

Kolivan led Keith to the makeshift benches of the tournament arena. It was currently empty, which wasn’t surprising. Traditionally the tournament didn't start until the last day of Blazar.

The only other people around were a couple of Galra and an Olkari inspecting the fighting ring.

Kolivan took a seat and gestured to Keith to do the same. He did so without speaking. Keith considered Kolivan a member of his family, but he was also his mother's boss, so he wasn't as close to him as he was with Thace or Ulaz.

"There have been a few matters that I have been meaning to discuss with you," Kolivan began before giving a smirk. "First off, you are now old enough to sign up for the tournament."

Keith's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Your mother gave her blessing and you are officially eighteen so you legally fit the requirements."

Keith slowly smiled as he tightened his fist in excitement. He couldn't believe it. He’d been wanting to take part since he was ten. Keith had been counting the days until… _wait_.

He frowned as he sharply turned to Kolivan. "Eighteen? Last I checked you and Mom said I had to be twenty-one."

"We did," Kolivan said as he looked off into the ring.

Keith tilted his head, but then it dawned on him. "You both lied?"

"Yes," Kolivan answered firmly. "You had recently stolen the Red Lion at the time. Can you blame us?"

Keith raised and lowered his hand before sighing. "No, I guess not."

Kolivan chuckled. "Regardless, it will be quite fitting. I am sure your grandfather would be proud if he were alive for this."

Keith raised his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Kolivan frowned. “Has Krolia ever mentioned her father to you?”

Keith shrugged as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Just that he died years before I was born, didn’t like a lot of attention, and was protective of his family. But that was it.”

“I see.” Kolivan nodded in understanding. “I won’t give too many details since Krolia should be the one to tell you the full story, but he was a rather famous warrior thanks to the Blazar tournament.”

Keith’s eyes widened. His grandfather had been famous? Why hadn't his mom ever told him? Intrigued, he leaned in closer. “Did he win the tournament?”

“Yes, but that was only part of it,” Kolivan explained slowly with a sigh, “and it’s related to something I also wish to discuss with you.” He leaned back against the bench. “How much has your mother told you about Daibazaal?”

“Not much,” Keith replied. “I mean, she told me bits about her family home, but that’s about it.”

Krolia would mention bits and pieces about her childhood and what his grandparents had been like, but his mother always seemed more focused on Earth being their home. Keith even recalled once eavesdropping on his parents discussing if they should take Keith to Daibazaal for a visit, but Krolia had insisted it wasn’t necessary. Keith had never given it much thought. He assumed his mother had her reasons, but he couldn't help but be curious about what his mother's planet was like.

“Then I assume you don’t know about Daibazaal’s caste system?" Kolivan asked firmly.

Keith blinked and shook his head. This was news to him.

“It would take a few hours to explain the exact details, but to put it simply, there is a ranking system with peasants at the bottom and nobles at the top,” Kolivan explained. “What rank you were born in is where you would remain until you died. There were few opportunities to move up in the caste system, and the Blazar tournament was one of them.”

Keith became quiet as he mulled this detail over. 

"On Daibazaal, the tournament allows anyone to take part, but most assume any participants from a low-ranking class will lose in the first round," Kolivan continued. "If such a person does make it beyond the first round, it is widely considered to be a fluke, but if they make it to the final round, then tradition states they have proven their strength and are allowed to move up in the caste system."

Keith's eyes widened. "So my grandfather…"

"Was considered one of those 'flukes,' yes," Kolivan replied. "I was about your age when I saw him take part.” He gave a wistful smile Keith wasn’t used to seeing on his face. “It was incredible to watch, especially considering who he beat. But your mother should tell that part.”

“Whoa,” Keith muttered. “I can’t believe Mom never bothered to tell me this.”

Kolivan sighed. “I assume she wanted to wait until you were old enough and wished for you to see yourself as a citizen of Earth first.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s not officially stated, but half-breed Galra are often considered weaker and lower in the caste system. Krolia likely wanted to protect you from ever having to experience that treatment.”

“Oh,” Keith replied softly. That did explain a lot. His mother wasn’t strict, but she could be too protective at times, not that Keith could blame her. He hadn’t always been the easiest kid to take care of, and by the sounds of it, she probably would have had a harder time on Daibazaal.

“On that note, Earth made it known it was welcoming of people from other planets coming to live here. It was very appealing to many Galra,” Kolivan said.

Keith froze as the meaning dawned to him, and he raised his head. “Because there’s no caste system?”

Kolivan nodded. “Correct. It’s for that reason many Galra consider Earth their homeworld now and try as much as they can to cut ties with Daibazaal entirely.” He gave a sigh. “Although it has been a bit tricky getting Zarkon and the other Galra nobles to understand this.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“In the past, the Galra have conquered and created colonies on other planets. Though that did stop not long after Zarkon became Emperor.” Kolivan rubbed his neck. “However, many traditionalists view the Galra living here as members of yet another colony. Zarkon believes the Galra here are still citizens of the empire and therefore his subjects to command.”

Keith choked. “What? But that’s…no, we’re all citizens of Earth.”

Kolivan gave a bitter laugh. “I can’t tell you how many times I have tried explaining that to him. In his defense, he has trouble understanding why any Galra would make such a choice. In his mind, moving up the caste system is easy if you have the strength to earn it."

Keith became quiet. He'd only seen Zarkon a few times, but from how Alfor had described him, Zarkon did seem like a rather strict person. It wasn’t that shocking to learn it'd extend to his attitude towards Earth. 

A thought then struck him, and Keith looked up at Kolivan. “Is that why there’s that...weird tension between you two?”

Kolivan frowned and blinked dumbly.

Keith cleared his throat. “Um…it’s just that when I saw you two greet each other, it wasn’t exactly…a warm greeting.”

“Ah,” Kolivan said softly as he tapped his fingers together. “No, well, that was only part of it. I’m afraid that ‘tension’ you felt was more personal.” He straightened his posture. “I was a close ally of Zarkon in my youth, and I proved enough of my worth to be made one of his commanders.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “No way, really?”

“Yes,” Kolivan continued. “However, I was eventually offered the chance to come to Earth and assist the Galra here as they adjusted and broke from Daibazaal. I never agreed with the caste system, and I saw coming here as a chance to provide a better future for the Galra who could not ‘prove their worth’ as I did.” He shut his eyes. “Unfortunately, Zarkon could not understand this and took it as a minor betrayal that I left his side to come here.”

“Whoa,” Keith muttered. “That explains a lot honestly.” He gave a small frown. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Kolivan touched his shoulder. “Because you are the future Red Paladin and Zarkon is the current Black Paladin. I wouldn’t be surprised if Zarkon believes that he can order you around like another one of his subjects.”

Keith opened and shut his mouth. “But I’m _not_ his subject.”

“Agreed, but Zarkon may not see it that way,” Kolivan said as he patted Keith’s shoulder. "He may try to give you orders outside of his jurisdiction as leader of the paladins. If he does, I wish for you to inform me.” He pulled his hand back. “He will be arriving soon, along with his son, to deliver Shiro’s arm, and with the Earth Galra hosting our own Blazar event, there is a chance that the matter of his jurisdiction may come up again.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “So, you want me to have my guard up?”

“Not quite that severe,” Kolivan answered carefully with a sigh, “but I wanted you to understand the situation if you encountered Zarkon or his son.”

Keith nodded. “What’s his son like?” He hadn’t even known Zarkon _had_ a son. There had been vague mentions of a wife, so the idea of children wasn’t exactly impossible. Keith just had difficulty imagining the imperious man in the same place as his own father.

“I have no idea,” Kolivan said as he shrugged. “I didn’t realize he had gotten married until recently.”

Keith gave a quiet nod. The whole thing was a lot to take in, but he understood why Kolivan felt he should know. He was the next Red Paladin, and he was also half Galra and a resident of Earth. 

He narrowed his eyes in contemplation.

The odds were high that Keith would encounter Zarkon’s son at some point, if not during this visit, then at some point during training, since Zarkon was Shiro’s mentor. Despite how much the guy seemed to be in denial about the fact.

Kolivan took a deep breath as he stood up. "We best start heading back or Antok will insist they start eating without us."

"Yeah," Keith said as he rose from his seat. He stole a final glance at the fighting ring before following. _I wonder who I’ll be fighting in the tournament._

* * *

Acxa quietly kept to herself as she walked past the many Galran families grouped together in variously sized groups.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered.

She had no sentiment for the holiday. In years past, she would normally find some bar with her frien—uh, _former associates_ and lie low until it was over.

She had planned to simply hide out at the Garrison for the week, but her guilt was too damn strong. Krolia had been hoping she would make an appearance, and since she was the closest thing Acxa had ever had to a mentor, she didn't want to let her down. Her recommendation was a major part of the reason the Garrison accepted her application. Krolia had never asked for anything in return, so it felt wrong to ignore the gathering and reject her invitation. 

So Acxa decided she would just make an appearance, snag a bite to eat, and go. After the arbitrary show of willing, she could spend the rest of the week flying under the radar. 

She spotted Krolia and a few of the other Galra from the Garrison huddled around a couple of charcoal grills. There were also some humans she didn’t recognize mingling amongst the group. One of the humans was currently gleefully standing next to Antok watching him flip burgers.

“This sauce you guys made is fantastic,” the human said as he took a bite of a burger he held in his hand. “Old Galra recipe?”

Antok shrugged. “It’s honestly something I threw together,” he said. “I never realized I enjoyed cooking until I moved to Earth.”

“You got a knack for it,” the human said as he looked over. “What’s in the potato salad?”

Krolia laughed in amusement until she glanced over her shoulder and spotted Acxa. Her eyes widened, but then softened as she waved to her.

“You came,” she said as Acxa approached. “Ulaz said you were busy with work.”

“I...was,” Acxa said hesitantly as she crossed her arms, “but I managed to get it done earlier than I expected.”

Krolia smiled as she patted her shoulder. “I’m glad you were able to come.”

Acxa gave an uneasy smile as she rubbed her arm.

“I’ll go get you a drink,” Krolia said as she turned around. “Just a tic.”

Acxa gave a nod as she watched the older Galra head for one of the coolers and tried to even her breathing.

 _Just relax, just relax,_ she muttered to herself. _Just keep to yourself and it’ll be fine._

“Hey, Krolia,” a voice hollered from behind.

Krolia jumped and turned to see one of the taller humans approach with a wave. 

“Mind getting a drink for me too?” he shouted.

“Sure thing,” Krolia replied without turning.

He rubbed his neck, but then paused as he locked his eyes on Acxa. Instantly, he grinned, tossed back his hair, and winked.

“Well, HELLO, who do we have here?” he asked. “Will my wishes come true? Because you are as bright as any shooting star.”

The shortest human gave a sigh as she appeared next to him. “Lance, knock it off.”

Acxa narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t bugged by his flirting. It wasn’t the worst greeting she'd ever received after all. It was just that there was something kind of familiar about—

Her brain clicked. 

_Wait, Lance—Ah, right. That’s where I know him from._

“Knock what off?” Lance asked as he shot finger guns at Acxa. “I’m just chatting with this pretty lady.”

Acxa smirked. “You’re just like she described.”

Lance smirked as he grasped his chin. “Oh? And who told you about me.”

“Veronica,” Acxa said and didn’t mind seeing the boy freeze. “We already met once, but you must not remember.”

“No…no, I don't,” Lance moaned in a deadpan tone. “But I think I do now.” He coughed as he inched away. “I am…going to see if Hunk needs a drink or anything.”

Lance blushed as he walked away, leaving the smaller human to blink in bafflement until Acxa shrugged. “I work with his older sister,” she explained.

“Ah.” She smirked in understanding. “Serves him, right. I’m Pidge, by the way.”

“You’re one of the Holts,” Acxa said with a nod. “I recall seeing you around with your father.” She frowned and glanced around. “Is he here too?”

She didn’t mind Commander Holt, but she wondered just how many of the Garrison officers were here.

“Naw,” Pidge said as she shook her head. “Me and the other paladins just got invited here by Keith. Speaking of which, here he comes.”

Acxa turned her head. She spotted Kolivan with a shorter human-looking boy that she recognized from pictures Krolia had on her desk at the Garrison. Keith seemed shorter than he had looked in the photos, but to be fair, most people seemed short when standing next to Kolivan.

Krolia reappeared with two canned drinks in her hands.

“You two were gone quite awhile,” she said with a half smile.

“Had a few things to discuss,” Keith replied as he crossed his arms. “Like how you never bothered to tell me how my grandfather was apparently an arena fighter.”

Krolia laughed awkwardly. “It honestly never came up until now.” Then, remembering that this was their first meeting, she gestured to Acxa. “Keith, this is Acxa.”

Acxa stiffened and gave a slight nod.

Keith frowned but slowly nodded back and offered her his hand. “Hi, Mom mentioned you to me a few times. I think I’ve seen you around the Garrison.”

“Likewise,” Acxa replied as she shook his hand. “I hope you don’t mind me intruding on your family time.”

Keith shrugged. “I brought my friends along. Honestly, anyone is welcome here.”

Acxa narrowed her eyes slightly. “That’s very different from Daibazaal.”

It was an event for all the classes, but it was rare for anyone to invite people that were not part of their family to their Blazar gathering.

Keith blinked curiously. “You lived on Daibazaal?”

Acxa fidgeted slightly. “Yes, but it was a long time ago.”

She prepared herself to dodge questions if Keith asked anything further, but instead he turned back to his mother. “Kolivan told me I can take part in the tournament this year,” he said.

Acxa’s body relaxed slightly as Pidge tilted her head.

“What tournament?” she asked.

“On the last day of the festival, we hold a fighting tournament,” Kolivan explained. “Keith’s been wanting to take part for years, but he wasn't grown enough.”

“However, I decided this year he had matured enough to take part,” Krolia explained as she ruffled Keith’s hair. “Just, please, try not to break all of your bones.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“Huh, neat,” Pidge said as she poked Keith’s side. “Is there a prize? Lance might want to take part too if he finds out about it.”

“There is a cash prize, but most take part for the bragging rights.” Keith shrugged. “Although I think the main tournament would be too intense for him. He'd be better off taking part in a grudge match.”

It was Acxa’s turn to ask a question. “A grudge match?”

“It’s something we began here on Earth,” Kolivan began. “There’s the main tournament, but if participants wanted to have a fight outside of the competition rounds, it’s allowed.”

“Most of it is just for letting out pent-up energy,” Krolia added, “although it has been used as a way to settle a few arguments.”

Acxa remembered how during the Blazar tournament on Daibazaal some of the Galra could grow excessively aggressive and slowly nodded. “That makes sense.” _If Zethrid was here, she would be having grudge matches all day,_ she thought as she sipped her drink.

“Not sure who Lance would want to take in a grudge fight,” Pidge muttered. “Although if we get to choose our own weapons, I have been meaning to get back at him for eating my peanut butter cookies.”

“I know you’re joking,” Keith replied as he shoved his hands into his pockets, “but considering I remember seeing my dad and Antok get into a grudge match over the last slice of apple pie, it’s not exactly out of the ballpark.”

“Your father won too, as I recall.” Kolivan chuckled.

“He did not, I let him win,” Antok called as he loaded a plate of burgers. 

“Video evidence says differently,” Regris shouted. 

Antok shot him a glare before he headed over to the table. “Food’s ready, so if you want something to eat, get it now before it vanishes.”

“Convenient change of subject,” Keith muttered to Pidge.

Krolia chuckled before she returned her attention to Acxa. “We have plenty of food, so help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Acxa said as she watched the others drift around the table.

For a brief moment, her mind wandered back to the Blazars of years past when she and her associates would attempt to scrape together some kind of feast from whatever they could dish up. There was often yelling and some arguing over the better bits of food, but by the end, they were laughing. Even Acxa would crack a smile or two.

She sighed as she tossed the memory aside and ventured forward. Now was not the time to become nostalgic. She had her future to concentrate on. 

* * *

"Alright, let us try this one more time." Lotor rubbed his temples in irritation. They had been going in circles over this point for some time. Thankfully, Sendak was intelligent enough to understand after having it explained to him only once. 

Morvok, on the other hand… 

"Many Galra have left to live on Earth. They have taken up permanent residency there. Therefore, they are doing _what_ to Earth?" 

Morvok’s face scrunched up in intense concentration. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as his mind worked itself around the new concept. Licking his lips, he finally tried, "It's still colo—" 

Lotor subjected him to an intense glare. 

He swallowed and tried again. 

"I-It's…" He formed his mouth around the foreign word,. "Em-i-gra-tion?" 

“NOW you are getting it.” Lotor sighed in relief. “We have no claim to Earth, so it CAN’T be a new colony. So if we run around on Earth _calling_ it one, we will both be factually incorrect as well as giving the completely wrong impression.”

Morvok gave him a stare that showed he didn’t really understand but was willing to play along.

Lotor took it. “Just… don’t call it a colony. Avoid that kind of terminology at all costs.”

“Of course, your highness,” Morvok said, shooting a salute.

Lotor didn’t trust that salute. He didn’t trust ‘your highness.’ Hell, he was fairly certain he might not be able to trust the ‘of course.’

He didn’t trust _Morvok_.

Lotor was quite certain he’d sell him out for only the vaguest promise of a promotion. The only comfort he could derive from this situation was that Morvok lacked the sufficient wit, skill, and sheer nerve it would take to really betray him. It wouldn’t stop him from causing trouble though.

Once on Earth, Lotor would have to find some way to keep him preoccupied or otherwise under watch. The last thing he or his father needed was some toadie crawling around underfoot and getting in the way.

“Prince Lotor, is all of this necessary?”

Lotor looked up into the solid stern face of Commander Sendak. Tall, powerful, accomplished; the complete mirror opposite of Morvok with the added benefit of being well liked and respected by many. Including the Prince.

“I am afraid so. The one interaction I took part in with their leadership was not positive. I fear there are some on Earth who have,” Lotor paused and tried to choose his words delicately, “the wrong idea about our goals on their planet.”

Sendak growled indignantly, “I do not see why it is our responsibility to remedy such a thing.”

“It will make a good impression.” Lotor explained, “Besides, it is true. We have no officially recognized colony on Earth, and given our history, continually calling it such may retract much of our progress of the past few years.”

Ever since Zarkon had taken the throne, the Galran empires' previously continuous expansion had slowed enormously. There was still a large swathe of barren unoccupied space that they were mining and building small outposts in, but it was nothing like the old days. 

Some had raised a fuss about that. It wasn’t long ago that resources they had required for protection were difficult to come by and they had to spend many moons marauding for even a sliver of the needed supply. However, those days were now long gone. Trading peacefully with the other members of the alliance had solved their resource dilemma. Thus as long as their planet received the materials they needed there was not much room for complaint. 

Still there remained a minority that argued it wasn’t as glorious as conquering a planet, and that by playing politics, their people no longer reaped the full rewards. An ideology that Lotor was working to quietly stamp out. It helped that all of their original colonies that were still under their command favored the change in practices.

While there had been many things his father had changed when he became Emperor, Lotor couldn’t help but think there were other things that he should have changed as well. His journey around the Empire had only served to enhance that opinion. Not that he dared to voice any of those ideas. Yet. First, Lotor had to secure his place in the court. Earth would serve to advance that.

“One last thing,” Lotor said almost as an afterthought, “do not order any of the Galra at the Garrison around.”

Morvok looked offended and whined, “But why not? I have the authority—”

“On _Daibazaal_ you have the authority,” Lotor reminded him, “and within any of the fleets. However, any Galra we meet on Earth will likely work for the Garrison. We don’t want to sort through that particular tangle just yet. First we must establish a strong relationship with Earth’s government, show them what we can do for them. Once that is done, we can finally settle that little matter.”

Exactly how they’d settle it, Lotor didn’t really care. He had bigger things to worry about than a handful of rebellious minded strangers. Not everyone could just run away from their responsibilities. Not that he couldn’t understand wanting to.

Zarkon’s arrival was marked by the sound of the opening door. All three saluted his arrival. It still felt somewhat awkward having to salute his father like this when in front of the men, but Lotor was slowly getting used to it.

Morvok gave the Emperor a massive grin, "My liege! Might I once again thank you for appointing me to such a highly honored—" 

"Prince Lotor, I have good news!" he said, sweeping past Morvok, ignoring his words. "I have managed to find a third commander to accompany us to Earth!”

“That is good news.” Lotor sighed in relief. “Someone competent, I hope?” As he spoke, he glanced at Morvok meaningfully.

His father showed no sign of whether or not he’d noticed the hint. “Yes! One of our best and brightest.”

The Prince glanced over his father’s shoulder and watched as the late addition came through the door.

Lotor controlled himself. At least he made an attempt at controlling himself. He was certain that some telling thread of dislike still showed on his face. 

“Commander Throk,” he greeted stiffly. “What a”—Pleasant? Unexpected? Irritating?—“surprise.”

Throk, in return, gave Lotor the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable. “Always a pleasure, my Prince.”

The bastard!

“Commander Throk has graciously volunteered to forgo his allotted holiday to accompany us to Earth,” Zarkon explained in a tone of high appreciation. “I had feared we would be unable to find three free to hand commanders to fill the role.”

Having at least three Galra of high rank accompany them wasn't, strictly speaking, necessary. Especially since the point of this diplomatic venture amounted to a small errand. That being said, it made the whole affair more official. If it had just been Zarkon, Lotor, and Narti, it would have been more like a minor stop rather than a major envoy. All in all, Lotor had largely agreed with his father's sentiment. But that was before he'd been saddled with Morvok. Now that he knew Throk of all people would be coming, it made Lotor deeply regret encouraging his father's search for a third Commander. 

Not that he could say that _now_.

“How public spirited of him,” he said instead.

From the particular turn of Throk’s grin, Lotor could’ve sworn the man was reading his mind.

“I live only to serve.” The exaggerated bow he gave at this last comment forced Lotor to tuck both his hands behind his back in order to avoid punching him.

Morvok and Sendak glanced at each other but added nothing to the conversation.

The dislike between Prince Lotor and Commander Throk was something of an open secret amongst most of the higher command. If Throk was ever presented with an opportunity to make Lotor look bad, he took it, and Lotor tended to respond in kind. Nobody actually said anything, and the two tended to avoid getting into any kind of open argument, but everyone knew. 

Well… almost everyone.

“I had feared I may have to settle with someone unknown to you,” Zarkon explained in a rare moment of social ignorance. “This is so much easier, is it not?”

Nobody knew why Emperor Zarkon, who was normally sharper than a blade in matters between his subordinates, was absolutely blind to the animosity between one of his most loyal Commanders and his only son. It might have had something to do with the fact that neither party had ever taken their grievances to him. Regardless of whatever personal issues the two had, they both preferred that it stay between them. Throk both respected and feared Zarkon too much to openly criticize his son to him, and as for Lotor…

“Yes,” Lotor sighed resignedly, “it does.”

There was no arguing with his father. Especially since he’d want an explanation for why Throk should be dismissed, and Lotor was certain ‘because he is a damn smug bastard who’d blow the whole thing just to spite me’ wasn’t an acceptable response.

“Commander Throk, I am certain you are already acquainted with Commander Sendak?” Zarkon asked, gesturing proudly towards his student.

Throk’s gaze left Lotor and went upwards to Sendak. The change in his demeanor was instantaneous. A hand was outstretched in comradery, which Sendak took almost reflexively.

“Of course! I was fortunate enough to lay witness to you, yet again, attaining victory in the tournament. I must lay credence to your use of that arm.” Throk nodded to the prosthetic. “I would be jealous were I not so attached to my limbs.”

A ring of laughter went through the group, excluding Lotor, who wasn’t in the mood for even the most morbid of humor, and Narti, whose sense of humor and how she could possibly express it, was something of a mystery.

Throk wasn’t like Morvok. He was much more personable, and his attempts at flattery were actually subtle, which meant he was a much more successful social climber. If Morvok wanted to compliment Empress Honerva and thereby get on Zarkon’s good side, he’d form a long, nonsensical sentence dripping in purple prose about her beauty or something. Throk accomplished the same thing by complimenting a completely different person.

“I am certain you remember me, Commander.” Morvok said, taking the initiative. “We were on Henton 9 together.”

Throk’s cold eyes settled on him contemptuously. “Yes.” The man showed his teeth. “I do. Very, very well.”

Morvok shrank. The man may not have been clever or particularly skilled, but he hadn’t lasted in the military as long as he had by not having an above average sense of self-preservation. 

Throk sniffed, showing that he saw this as a proper response.

Then came the inevitable.

Throk looked at Narti.

Narti couldn’t look back at him, but Lotor could tell from the way her hand stopped caressing Kova’s fur that she felt his gaze on her.

“Everyone here is a part of the envoy to Earth?” Throk asked, not removing his gaze from the half Galra.

Zarkon was about to respond, but Lotor spoke instead. “Yes.”

“Even this…” Throk glanced at Zarkon. “Girl?”

“Of course.” Lotor’s voice was growing hot. It wasn’t yet aggressive, but it was getting there. “Is there a reason she shouldn’t?”

“Well,” Throk began in a slow tone of deliberately feigned ignorance, “she isn’t entailed.”

The mood noticeably dropped.

Zarkon looked at Lotor, then at Throk, and then Narti. Then he looked tired. “Lotor,” he began in a low warning voice.

It was too late. Lotor had already moved past his father and right up to Throk. 

“I apologize I do not believe I fully understand your contention.” The Prince’s voice hadn’t raised. It was controlled, level, and coldly, mercilessly venomous. “Would you care to _elaborate_?”

Throk bent his head downwards so that his eyes met Lotor’s icy blue ones. He didn’t grin or look startled. That would have been too satisfying. Instead, the son of a guzmo had the gall to look innocently confused.

“No contention. I merely wonder if the inclusion is necessary. It does not do to involve people unnecessarily.” Then, just to show off how good he had gotten at the game, Throk gave him an apologetic look, the kind that could melt the coldest hearts, and said in a tone akin to the whine of some small furry animal that had been unjustly kicked, “I did not mean to offend you, your highness.”

* * *

“I hate him.” Lotor sneered the second the doors to his quarters closed and he and Narti were safely alone.

Throk, the clever bastard, had successfully baited Lotor into making a complete fool of himself. He’d managed to make Lotor look like some over sensitive child and Throk like some innocent who’d made a minor misstep. All in front of his father too.

Zarkon had not been pleased with the way his son had reacted. He’d pulled Lotor aside afterwards and explained, in a laboriously patient tone, that the Commander had meant no harm and that he had reacted too strongly. Even if he had felt he was defending his friend. It was only thanks to the timely intervention of a foot soldier that the conversation had ended before a fight could start.

Lotor hated arguing with his father. It was always loud and angry, and though Lotor tried to speak, he felt he could never make any of his points heard. A sufficiently angered Zarkon could shout so loud it caused vibrations through the surrounding walls, and while Lotor had tried to overcome the volume in the past, he never seemed to manage.

The only good thing about their arguments was when they were over and neither of them had the energy to say anything more to each other. By the time they saw one another again, all the emotions would have died away and either they just went about their days never mentioning it or else Lotor (and only Lotor) would apologize. Which result it would turn out to be usually depended on who _Lotor_ thought was at fault.

In this instance, they would most definitely not be mentioning it.

It wasn’t that his father was never sorry for anything. It was just that he tended to avoid ever _saying_ he was sorry for anything. 

Lotor felt quite confident that, if pressed, he could easily count the number of times he had actually heard his father sincerely apologize on one hand and that would be after a lot of thinking and conferring with witnesses.

 _He has certainly never apologized to me._ Almost against his will, Lotor’s hand drifted to his chest and lightly fingered something metal just under the layer of clothing. _Well…almost never._

Narti hadn’t made any attempt to communicate since the incident. In itself, that was not too unusual. Even by the standards of limited conversation, she tended to keep to herself. Juxtaposed by what Throk had said, however…

“How are you, Narti?” he asked once the feelings of vitriol had drained away.

Narti didn’t respond. Instead, she took a seat on the edge of the bed.

After a few moments, he tried again, “I am given to understand there are native cat species on Earth. So, taking Kova shouldn’t be a problem. So long as we make sure he doesn’t start hunting the local animal population. Again.”

Still no response.

Oh dear. What Throk said must have really gotten to her.

Feeling a major change in subject was in order, Lotor moved to his desk and took something out of a drawer. He’d been pleased when he learned the special order would be ready in time for this trip. Lotor had fretted that they might have to go through the whole occasion without it. Not that it was necessary for his plans, but it certainly would help things along.

"Narti," Lotor’s voice had lowered to a more intimate volume. "I have something for you." 

It got her attention. Narti raised her head and slightly inclined it towards his voice in interest. 

“Here.” Lotor placed a box on her lap.

Narti’s head tilted as she placed both hands on the box and left them there, feeling around the edges absentmindedly. Then her head tilted in the other direction in inquiry.

“You can open it.”

Satisfied, Narti found the seam of the lid and lifted it. After rooting around inside, she pulled out the contents.

The material slid through her fingers. She could feel the woven fiber beneath her touch. Nothing as delicate and smooth as the material that made up the Empress's Altean-made dresses but still fine material. The kind that many of the ruling lords and off-duty commanders and generals finer robes were made of. 

At her direction, Kova stopped cleaning himself and came up onto Narti’s shoulder so that she could see. 

Kova wasn't like most cats. For starters, he was old. Far older than any cat should be. 

Narti had learned, mainly through context clues, that Kova had been an animal companion to the royal family of Daibazaal for at least _twenty years_. She by no means claimed to be an expert (although she did love all manner of small animals), but something about that fact seemed…off. It was surprising no one ever seemed to comment on it.

Then of course there was Kova’s intellect. Her connection with him (the technical mechanics of which even she didn’t entirely understand) gave her the unique experience of understanding just how far that intellect went. It wasn’t supergenius level, but she had tried to connect with other animals and none of them understood her directions as well as Kova did.

Most odd of all was how Lotor seemed so completely blind to it. Kova was his mother's cat and his lifelong companion and that was about it. Narti wanted to chalk part of it up to the fact that cats weren’t native to Daibazaal, but Lotor had been to Altea and all over the rest of the galaxy. She herself had never even encountered a cat until she had been brought here, and _she_ could notice something off.

Narti didn’t want to bring it up, though. She feared that the explanation would turn out to be something incredibly simple that everyone already knew, and she damn well wasn’t going to be the one idiot who didn’t know.

Though it was interesting to note that, like his father, Lotor had a few blind spots.

From the sight over her shoulder, Narti could see colors of dim red and golden trimmings. Pulling the material further out, she could see it was a dress. Long sleeves, a flowing skirt, and a long strip of red material in the box to use as a headscarf. There were even leggings with a place for her tail.

“I ordered it special,” Lotor explained. “I used your other clothes to get the measurements as well as some advice from Mother, so it should fit you perfectly.”

It was…lovely. So soft and comfortable against her skin. Finely pieced together and well made and yet still simple enough not to trip her up. And the colors…they were Zarkon’s.

Narti ran her fingers over the material lovingly.

“Do you like it?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her hands preoccupied themselves with exploring the many folds and seams of the clothes. Kova sat at her side looking over the myriad of colors.

Finally she set the material down in her lap and hesitated before signing, “Am I allowed to wear this?”

“Of course you are,” Lotor replied sternly. 

Narti fiddled with the sleeve discontentedly.

“Pay no mind to Throk,” Lotor soothed. “He’s too much of a coward to show he resents me in the open. So he’s going the passive-aggressive route by taking it out on you. I will try to ensure you are not left alone with him.”

Narti nodded in thanks. However, her spirits did not lift.

“Is there something else the matter?” Lotor asked quietly.

Narti hesitated before asking, “Is Morvok taking my job?”

Lotor’s eyes widened in surprise. A half laugh escaped before he silenced it by biting his lower lip. “No, Narti. I am not replacing you. Ever. Especially not with someone as subpar as Morvok.” The bitter conviction in his voice seemed to finally abash at least some of Narti’s melancholy. However, Lotor wasn’t satisfied. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“Morvok,” she signed, “he has been suggesting it.”

Lotor’s lip twitched into a snarl. “I see.”

He and Morvok were going to have a long discussion about both being respectful to his (technical) superior and discretion. It was bad enough that Morvok was a social climber, but if he was also a gossip, then reining him in was going to be more difficult than Lotor had anticipated. It didn’t help that he put Narti’s back out.

“I do not like him,” Narti signed.

Lotor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t either. However, we are stuck with him for now.”

“Could you not request a replacement?”

“If I did that, Father would win,” Lotor whined.

“It is a competition, then?”

Lotor shifted uncomfortably. Narti had a tendency to put things in rather awkward terms. “No, more like a…a test?” he said, sorting it out as he spoke. That was what it amounted to, wasn’t it? “I am certain it is something like that.”

Narti didn’t bother signing the question “You aren’t sure?” because she easily communicated it by crossing her arms and tilting her head.

“What else could it be?” Lotor insisted, crossing his own arms stubbornly.

Narti once more didn’t sign, though this time it was because she didn’t have an answer. 

She didn’t agree with Lotor that his father was testing him. However, she couldn’t come up with any reason herself for why Zarkon would assign such an opportunist to Lotor. Typically, he tended to avoid allowing anyone who might try to abuse such a close position to the throne anywhere near his son.

“Either way, getting rid of Morvok isn’t a reliable option. There is no guarantee a replacement would be any better. Especially if Father gets enthusiastic and assigns me someone like Throk.”

If Narti could wince, she would have. Between the two, it was Commander Throk she found the least desirable to be around. 

Morvok was insulting, but he was insulting in a personal way. He wanted to climb the ladder, and, intentionally or not, his declaration that he would ‘replace’ her indirectly acknowledged that she had a place he _could_ fill. She still hated the little toad, and presumably he hated her right back, but at least it was because he wanted her job. Throk, meanwhile, with his hints and purposely careless comments, seemed to hate her for the unforgivable sin of taking up space. 

Of course, Lotor hated Throk as well, which was part of the reason she never mentioned how she felt to the Emperor or Empress. If Zarkon didn’t believe his own son when it came to the Commander's subtle hints, he would hardly be likely to listen to her. Especially not now. Best case scenario, Zarkon would suggest that Lotor’s reaction had put ideas into her head.

"Just…don't kill him." Lotor sighed. 

Narti nodded certainly. 

"Or maim."

A small hesitation and another nod. 

"Or hit." 

Narti crossed her arms stubbornly. He was really asking for too much. Nevertheless, she nodded—while ensuring she kept her fingers crossed behind her back. 

She needed _something_. 

* * *

“They are…” Allura licked her lips, trying to stall as she searched for an appropriate term.

“A mess?” Blaytz suggested.

“I was going to say _inexperienced_ ,” Allura said gently, though she knew she was putting it extremely lightly. She had never seen anyone past the age of thirteen get laid down flat by the gladiator in less than five minutes. “Exactly how long have they been in training?”

“About a phoeb?”

“ _Oh_.” Allura grimaced.

“Actually they’re showing marked improvement,” Blaytz added, feeling he should bolster the young trainees’ street cred a bit. “It’s just slow, and of course their teamwork needs…” He watched through the window as Pidge dove behind Hunk for cover, only to end up functioning as a convenient tripping point for the larger boy when he stumbled back from the gladiator’s swing. “Work.”

There was a dull yelp as Lance was thrown into Keith and Shiro, downing all three.

“It’s progress. Of a kind.” Blaytz sighed. “I’ll admit I’m happy to finally get some help with this.”

Coran tugged on his mustache thoughtfully as he watched the continuing chaos. “Have they done the electrified—”

“No,” Blaytz said immediately before realizing that it had probably sounded rude. “I mean, they did, but it wasn’t electrified. Or invisible.”

“I guess it is a bit much for beginners. I assume they passed with flying colors?”

“N-No.” Blaytz averted his gaze from the window with a wince as the butt of the robot's staff struck in a very sensitive place. “Not exactly passed. Not passed. It was more in the avenue of a general…not passing sense.”

“So they failed?” Allura was crossing her arms now, looking distinctly disapproving. 

“Well, one of them made it out on their own, but considering the point of the exercise, I don’t feel confident giving it an A+ performance. It was honestly more C- territory if anything.”

"That's good?" Coran asked. 

"It's not rock bottom." Blaytz rubbed his gills in discomfort. "Go easy on them. We've had years of training in this sort of thing. Humans at this age normally focus on technical stuff. Y'know, engineering, piloting, that sort of thing." 

Allura frowned. "When does Zarkon arrive?" 

"Tomorrow, I think," Coran answered uncertainly. 

"Right." Allura adjusted and evened out her skirt before taking a deep breath. "Then we have a lot of work to do." 

Blaytz was familiar with that tone. He felt bad for Lance. Poor boy had no idea what he’d gotten into.

“Well, hopefully we’ll get far enough along that Zarkon won’t be too disappointed. ’Course, he usually tries to be more patient when Lotor’s around. Or at last he’ll be less likely to make a prize ass of himself.” Blaytz nearly chuckled when, from the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen.

Quiznak. Thanks to Alfor’s insistence on informality, Blaytz really managed to forget she was a princess sometimes. Besides, Zarkon was practically her godfather, so comments on his bullheadedness might not be welcome.

“Uh, I mean…” Blaytz muttered.

“Lotor’s…coming?”

Blaytz’s brow creased. “Yes? Did you not know that?”

“No,” she said quietly, her eyes lowering, “I only just heard Zarkon was coming. I didn’t know he was taking Lotor with him.”

“Oh? Well, that’s good, right?” Blaytz was more than happy in the change of subject. “I mean, how long has it been since you kids last saw each other? A year? Two years?”

“Six years.”

 _Six years?!_ Blaytz blanched. “But, I mean, you've both visited Altea and Daibazaal respectively.”

“We have both been…busy.” Allura’s voice was quiet.

“Ah, training. Right.” The paladin nodded.

Something was knocking about at the back of his mind. They hadn’t seen each other in six years. Six years.

Six years ago.

 _Oh_.

* * *

Shiro turned off the bathroom tap and dunked his head into the filled sink. He held it there for a few moments before pulling it out with a deep breath. Pulling the towel from around his neck, he dried his hair and face. 

Lowering the towel, hestared at his reflection in the mirror. He was certain he was starting to develop bags under his eyes. Sleep hadn’t been coming to him lately.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Only twenty-five and already developing stress-induced insomnia. Joy.

Things were not going smoothly. The cadets were slowly starting to get along, but their combat training was lagging behind. He wanted to think there was no hurry regardless of Blaytz’s forebodings, but he knew that, with his luck, the blue paladin's fears would prove to be well founded.

Shiro closed his eyes and leaned over the sink tiredly. He needed to get some rest, he knew, but he also knew that for the rest of the week he was fully booked. Training, trying to mentally prepare himself for dealing with Zarkon again, more training, diplomacy, training.

Vacations were things he was technically owed by the Garrison, but over the years he never seemed to find the time to take many. Perhaps he’d have to soon start thinking of taking one. Eventually. But not now. There was too much going on.

“Yo.”

Shiro turned his head to see Blaytz casually leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. Instinctively straightening in the presence of a (technically) senior officer, Shiro asked, “I-I’m sorry, do you need the sink or…?”

“Nah, I don’t need to wet my skin just yet,” he said, “I just figured, maybe, we should talk.”

“Of course.” Shiro glanced at the bathroom stalls and added, “Maybe not here, though.”

“For this conversation, that’s probably a good idea.”

Shiro didn’t want to ask what that meant. Instead, he silently followed Blaytz to one of the nearby break rooms. He gestured Shiro inside before closing the door behind him and taking a seat in one of the armchairs. 

“What is this about?” Shiro asked cautiously as he took a seat himself.

Blaytz sighed. “How much did Alfor tell you?”

“About what?” Shiro asked with a blink.

“About Zarkon’s other candidate.”

“You mean,” Shiro said slowly, recalling that first meeting with Zarkon and what they discussed, “the candidate to pilot the Black Lion before me?”

Blaytz nodded.

“Alfor didn’t say anything, but I remember Zarkon saying something about a candidate failing to pilot the lion.”

“Well, that seems in character, at least. Zarkon certainly wouldn’t give any solid details.” Blaytz sighed again and sunk into his seat. “Once again they've dumped it all on me.”

“Dumped what on you?” Shiro asked, growing concerned. “What's this all about?”

“You know Zarkon is coming to Earth and bringing that fancy new arm of yours?”

Shiro nodded.

“Well, that former candidate I mentioned is coming along. In fact, he’ll probably be the one attaching it.”

“Oh?” Shiro looked at him in interest, and then suddenly taking the hint, he repeated, “O-Oh. This…might be awkward.”

“It's worse than that,” Blaytz said seriously. “Zarkon was dead set on this candidate since day one. And there was a reason for that. The candidate in question was his son. Prince Lotor.”

Shiro’s eyes widened. “He has a son?! I-I…I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t think you did. Zarkon isn't the type to drag his family into conversations that don't concern them, and Alfor was probably afraid of setting the two of you against each other from the get out. But I figure you'll need to know.”

“Is he—Is the Prince upset about it?”

Blaytz hesitated. “That's a tough question to answer. I’m tempted to say, yes, just ’cause I heard of how Allura reacted. But honestly? It's hard to get a good read on how that kid feels about _anything_. He’s, well, he’s well behaved. If you know what I mean.”

Shiro _didn_ 't know what he meant. He couldn’t see the connection between Zarkon’s son being well behaved and Blaytz’s inability to answer his question.

Almost like he read his mind, Blaytz extrapolated further. “Y’know how some people will shout their personal woes while others keep it in? I think Lotor’s kinda like that. Of course, I only saw him for the first time in six years when Zarkon rescued you. So I can’t exactly claim to know him well.”

“So you’re saying he might not bite my head off, just be insanely chilly and passive-aggressive?” Shiro groaned. “That’s something to look forward to.”

“Well…maybe?” Blaytz hesitated. “I gotta say that Gyrgan got a completely different reading. He tends to notice stuff without actually, well, noticing, if you know what I mean. I like to think I can read people really well myself but…” 

He rubbed his neck awkwardly.

“That’s what I mean by ‘hard to read.’ The fact is, I don’t know how he feels. That’s why I’m talking to you now. You’re a levelheaded guy. Not too oversensitive either. I figured it might be easier to warn you in case Lotor IS bitter about it. That way you can be prepared. If he’s not, well, consider it a relief to be proven wrong.”

Shiro could see the logic. However, the news was far from a relief to him, though it did serve to explain a few things. “I guess that might explain why Zarkon seems to hate me.”

“Zarkon doesn’t hate you,” Blaytz corrected firmly. “Trust me on this. I’ve seen what he’s like when he hates someone.” He shivered a little. “It’s…not pretty.”

This gave Shiro little comfort.

* * *

Keith was sore.

The gladiator the Alteans had brought along had done a number on him and the others. He and Shiro had lasted the longest, but even they went down after a few minutes of facing that thing alone. Keith had always done very well in his sparring matches against the other Galra, but after this experience he was beginning to wonder if they’d gone easy on him.

He had never imagined Allura would turn out to be the drill sergeant type. He’d hardly recognized her voice over the intercom. It was for training purposes, but still, Keith had never imagined she was capable of being so strict.

He finished wiping the sweat off his face with the towel before slumping into the chair, shutting his eyes.

“I’m not sure if I can move again,” he muttered.

He heard footsteps but didn’t bother to crack open an eye until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Lazily, he tilted his head and saw Allura standing there as she waved a bottle of water at him.

“Peace offering,” she said with a half smile. “It may have been a few years, but I recognized your annoyed glares while training.”

Keith glanced at the bottle, and without thinking he reached for it, opened it, and drained it in seconds.

“Thanks,” Keith replied as he wiped his mouth. “And I wasn’t annoyed, I was just…taken off guard.” He tucked the bottle between his feet. “I mean, you can be bossy, but I never knew you had a drill sergeant sleeping inside you.”

Allura chuckled awkwardly. “If you believe I am bad, you should see my mother when she has to organize a ball.” She sat in the chair next to him. “And I know I have a tendency to get a tad carried away.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “A tad?”

Allura sighed. “Alright, very much so, but can you blame me?” She waved her hands. “You and the other paladins are…”

“Terrible,” Keith finished for her.

“I was going to say ‘disorganized,’” Allura offered.

Keith shut his eyes. “But I know you mean terrible and you’re not wrong.” He rubbed his eyes. “We’ve been trying, but I don’t know what we’re doing wrong.”

Allura crossed her arms. “Well, you all haven’t known each other that long. Save for you and Shiro, of course. It can be hard for different personalities to get along.” Her eyes narrowed. “Granted, I suppose even close friendships can turn sour.”

Keith frowned. Wait, was Allura worried about their friendship?

“Hey,” he said gently as he touched her shoulder. “I was grumpy, but I’m not about to stop being your friend just because of the rough training.”

Allura blinked and then blushed as she waved her hands. “Oh, oh, Keith, no! I didn’t mean—” She sighed as she buried her face in her hands. “No, sorry, I was thinking aloud about someone else.”

Keith leaned in closer. He wasn’t the greatest at comforting people, and he hadn’t seen Allura for a few years, but he tried to be an ear when he could. “You want to talk about it?”

Allura sighed. “It’s a bit silly, but I just discovered my old friend Lotor will be coming to Earth.”

“Lotor?” Keith asked.

“Zarkon’s son,” Allura replied as she straightened her posture. “I’ve mentioned him to you before.” She paused in thought. “Haven’t I? Oh, maybe I haven’t.”

Keith stilled. Had she mentioned…oh wait, she _did_. Years ago she had mentioned having a Galran friend. Although it never occurred to him it was the prince she had talking about. 

Actually, that did make sense. Zarkon and Alfor did work together as paladins. It was only natural their children knew each other.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder what Lotor was like. Was he strict like his father or more open minded?

Keith swallowed and shoved his thoughts aside. He would have to think on that later, he had to focus on Allura for now.

“I think you did, yeah,” Keith said before frowning. “He’s your friend?”

“We’ve known each other since we were small," Allura explained. "Closest thing I had to a sibling, really." She cracked a smile. "Besides you, of course."

Keith scoffed, then narrowed his eyes. "If you are that close, why the worry?"

Allura's eyes hardened. "It's also been six years since I've last seen him." She hugged her knees to her chest. "A person can change a lot in that time."

Keith gave a slow nod. "They can," he agreed as his eyes softened. "But you'll never know until you see him." He patted her shoulder. "If he has changed, well…you still got me, right?"

Keith hoped that sounded supportive. He was never the best at offering comfort.

Allura smiled as she gently touched his hand. “Thank you, Keith.”

“Anytime,” Keith replied. He picked up the empty water bottle and stood up. “I should probably get a bite to eat.”

“How about I join you?” Allura said as she followed. “I haven’t eaten yet either.”

Keith led the way. “Yeah, sure. Was going to meet up with Shiro, and he won’t mind having you along.”

“Oh good,” Allura said as she walked beside him. “It would be a perfect time to tell you about some of the new training exercises I had in mind.” 

Keith cringed slightly as they walked. “Dare I ask what you have in mind?”

Allura held up a finger. “Well, first we are going to need a lot of blasters.”

“For us to shoot with?”

“No, to shoot _at_ you.”

Keith choked and suddenly wondered if maybe this was why Lotor hadn’t talked to Allura in six years.

* * *

“Cake or pie? Which is better?”

Pidge raised her head from her book and glanced over the table to where Hunk sat. “Neither. Peanut butter cookies are the best.”

“I don’t think it matters since neither were an option today,” Lance said as he poked at what was trying to be a salad. “On that note, I can’t tell if these red pieces are supposed to be red peppers or tomatoes?”

He knew the Garrison was cheap when it came to the cafeteria food, but this just felt insulting. 

Hunk sighed as he leaned against his hand. “No, I mean what should I bring to the Blazar event? I promised Antok I would bring dessert, but I can’t decide which is better?”

“Does it really matter?” Pidge asked.

“Of course it does!” Hunk said as he pointed his soup spoon at her. “Sharing a meal is one of the easiest ways of bonding, and the best way to achieve that is by providing the right food for the right occasion.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “So, you expect us to fix all of our bonding problems by eating tons of sugar?”

“You scoff, but I promise you that my mom’s pizza rolls would bring universal peace if they were served at gatherings,” Hunk replied.

“Okay, relax,” Lance said as he held his hands back. He thought for a moment. “Pie would be my pick.”

“I’ll just say pie so we can stop having this discussion,” Pidge added.

"Pie it is," Hunk declared as he leaned back. "Now…what _kind_ of pie?"

Lance groaned as he rubbed his eyes. He already had a headache from Veronica laughing her head off after learning he had flirted with Acxa. Again. The last thing he needed was a pie debate.

"Hunk, maybe just—"

"Hey, you guys."

The trio turned their heads, and Lance raised an eyebrow.

James Griffin stood at their table with his lunch tray in hand. He wasn’t a bad guy, in Lance’s opinion, but it wasn’t like the two were best buds. Top student. Always busy training or studying. Also the most likely to rat you out if he caught you breaking 'Garrison protocol.' There were reasons Lance never hung out with the guy.

"Oh, hey, Griffin," Hunk greeted. "You needed something?"

"Not really," Griffin replied. "But is it true you guys are going to that Galra thing?”

“Yeah, we are,” Lance answered with a slight huff. “Why? It’s not like we’re going during Garrison hours.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Griffin said with a simple shrug, “but I figured I should warn you guys.”

“Warn us?” Pidge asked.

“You might want to think about being on your best behaviour,” Griffin said severely. He glanced around and leaned in. “I heard some of the Garrison officers talking, and there’s a chance Zarkon might be attending it as well.”

Pidge shrugged. “Yeah, so? He comes to Earth a lot.”

“Sure, but this is the first time he’d be attending an event held by the Earth Galra, so there might be some tension,” Griffin hissed. “Especially since I heard the officers mention there’s extra security ’cause he’s bringing his kid, Lotor, along.”

Lance choked. “ZARKON HAS A KID?!”

Hunk slammed a hand over Lance’s mouth. The group remained still, but thankfully no one else in the cafeteria seemed to have heard.

Griffin sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “How were you chosen to be paladins?”

Lance fumed but quieted down when Hunk patted his shoulder.

Pidge narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Not that we don’t appreciate the info, but why are you telling us?”

“Because you represent the Garrison,” Griffin replied firmly, “and I figured there’d be less of a chance for a…let’s call it a mishap, if you knew about it.”

Lance frowned. “You make it sound like we’re known for getting into trouble?”

Griffin kept a straight face as he leaned over the table. “Broke into the hanger to look at the Lions without authorized personnel, stole the Green Lion and flew it into space—”

“Hey, I got _permission_ ,” Pidge cut in.

“—And your Red Paladin stole the Red Lion as a kid,” Griffin finished as he leaned back. “I happen to know about that one because my dad ranted about it for weeks when I was a kid. Point is, you _do_ have a reputation of getting into trouble.”

Hunk gave an unwilling nod. “He’s…not wrong.” He gave the fellow cadet a thumbs-up. “Thanks for the warning, Griffin.”

“You can thank me by staying out of trouble,” Griffin said severely. “You’re welcome.”

Hunk waved, but Lance continued to glare at Griffin’s retreating back.

He gave a huff and pouted. “He makes it sound like we go around _asking_ for trouble.”

“We kind of do,” Pidge said with a shrug before poking at her casserole. “On that note…how does Zarkon have a kid?”

Hunk chuckled. “Well, Pidge, you see, when two Galra love each other very much—”

“You know what I mean,” Pidge snapped. “He doesn’t exactly strike me as the parental type. Or the romantic type, for that matter.”

Hunk swallowed a mouthful of his soup. “Hey, it’s not like we get to pick our parents.”

Lance nodded thoughtfully. He tried to picture Zarkon in the same position as his dad. Lance’s dad could be strict, but it was rare. His dad was always warm and never pushed Lance aside when he needed a reassuring hug growing up. It was rather hard to picture the giant, foreboding Emperor being as affectionate. Truth be told, he honestly couldn’t imagine Zarkon being affectionate _at all_.

“Man, whoever this Lotor guy is,” Lance muttered, “I feel sorry for him already.”

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Why exactly?”

“Dude, ’cause Zarkon is his _dad_ ,” Lance said as he leaned back in his chair. “I mean, from what I overheard from Blaytz’s muttering, the guy is crazy strict. You saw what he was like with us. He glared at us like we were barely worthy of breathing the same air as him.” Lance cringed at the thought. “If I had to live with him, I would never leave my room.”

Pidge adjusted her glasses. “One, just because he was unimpressed with us doesn’t mean he’s like that with his own kid.” She held up two fingers. “Second, how do you know Lotor is a guy?”

Lance tilted his head. Pidge was supposed to be the smart one among them, wasn’t she? “Um…hello? Lotor is a guy’s name?”

“It’s an _alien_ name,” Pidge corrected as she wagged a finger in his face. “For all you know, she could be a girl.”

“Or neither,” Hunk said with a shrug. “It’s not like we humans are strictly male or female either.”

Pidge pointed at him. “Also valid point.”

Lance pouted and sighed. “Fine, but _my_ point is that it would suck to have Zarkon as your papa.”

“Yeah, so?” Pidge said. “Not much we can do about it.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lance said as he leaned back. “Think we should tell Keith?”

“If Griffin of all people knows they’re coming, then I would wager he knows by now too, so I doubt we have to say anything,” Hunk said with a wave. “Besides, we have more pressing matters to discuss.”

“Oh?” Lance and Pidge asked.

Hunk clapped his hands. “Should I bring ice cream or whipping cream along with the pie?”

Lance groaned as Pidge tapped her fork in thought.

“Ice cream,” she said, “definitely ice cream.”

* * *

Zarkon removed his helmet the moment he was in the safety of his private suite. 

Honestly, the moment after a long day or a difficult mission where he could remove his headgear and feel the open air on his scalp was sheer bliss. Removing his armor also gave him a sense of relief that he hadn’t experienced in the old days. It used to be that the removal of his breastplate made him feel exposed, practically naked. Now, however, between the aching of his muscles and joints, he found himself more and more looking forward to those private moments alone when he could remove it.

Not that he was getting old. No, the stress of his duties and all this nonsense with Earth was just getting to him. His strength was still with him, and he could still move as agilely as before, so clearly the random twinges he felt were due to outer influences.

Zarkon flinched as he felt his right eye twinge.

That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway.

At 56, Zarkon had successfully outlived his predecessor, who had died at the ripe old age of 53. It was an unspoken fact of his people’s history that Emperors seldom lived long enough to become decrepit old men. They either died nobly in battle, were struck down by alien bacteria, or were otherwise assassinated. The Galra’s active military history meant that any leader of their people had to be prepared to lose their lives in the line of duty the same as any other soldier.

Zarkon considered it a point of pride that he had remained so resilient. It was definitely a sign of a long and prosperous reign. Sadly, his wife and son did not share his opinion. At times, they seemed to care more about his age than he did.

Lotor watched like a hawk for any sign of weariness from either of his parents, and Hoerva was always pushing treatments onto him. Zarkon was happy to have such small shows of care, but it was wearing. He loathed being treated like some old man on the precipice of becoming an invalid.

Yet what was there to be done? He’d resisted both of their proddings and done his best to quiet their concerns, and yet they persisted.

Zarkon rubbed his bad eye. It was getting bleary again. He knew he should tell Honerva the eye drops were losing their effectiveness, but he feared she would make him put off the trip to Earth. Better to just get more solution and bring it up after the trip.

“Zarkon, is that you?”

Speak of the devil.

He had just enough time to lower his hand from his eye before his wife emerged from their shared en suite. She was dressed for bed, already having donned her long, silky night-robe over her sleepwear. An odd thing at this time. Normally, Honerva did not come to bed until much later.

“You are turning in early?” he asked.

“Yes.” She sighed, crossing the room. “I’m rather forced to. Lotor took my main tablet and has yet to return it.”

Zarkon frowned in disapproval. “I will go speak to him.”

“Do not bother.” Honerva waved her hand dismissively. “He will have conveniently misplaced it.”

“Conveniently?”

“I think he means to force me to take a short vacation,” She explained. “Do not confront him on the matter. This is far easier to deal with than that time he changed the entrance code to my lab.”

He remembered the incident. He had been forced into the unfit role of mediator between the two. He had, on some level, agreed with Lotor. Honerva often worked herself too hard. However, his methods had been existence and disrespectful, which was why he had sided with Honerva, as he so often did.

Lotor had refused to speak to either of his parents for a week after that.

“Very well,” Zarkon agreed unwillingly, “but these incidents are becoming too frequent. Just today I have had to reprimand him again. I cannot think what is going on in his head.”

Honerva’s expression softened. “He is rather sheltered,” she said slowly. “I have to admit it’s been worrying me. I don’t think he has any friends.”

“Of course he does,” Zarkon contradicted, “there is Princess Allura and young Narti.”

“He hasn’t seen Allura in years, dear. There is Narti, or course, but she’s so obedient and dutiful I’m not sure she quite counts.”

“There is the fleet.” Zarkon suggested hesitantly.

“The fleet.” Honerva rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes. So friendly are they that you don’t even give a specific name. I mean real friends, dear. Not people who obey orders and show niceties because it's what is done.”

Zarkon didn’t comment. He set the last piece of armor on the dresser and sat on the bed.

“He needs people his own age who don’t answer to either of us,” Honerva finished.

“Is that what Queen Melenor said when you asked?”

Honerva stopped, made a vague motion of protest, before throwing up both her hands in defeat. “Yes, alright! It’s something Melenor said, but it’s relevant all the same.”

Zarkon nodded. Honerva often contacted Melenor to talk about things like children and married life and the sort. Galra women did much the same thing. It had to be one of those inexplicable things that occurred amongst wives all over the universe. Though how the species with twenty different sexes or one singular gender worked it all out, he couldn’t begin to guess.

Honerva sank onto the bed beside her husband. “I am happy he is going with you. Getting out will be good for him, I think. Let him meet people.”

Zarkon lay back on the bed, resting his tired head on a pillow. “Was there anyone else you could have sent?”

“Lotor’s the most competent option,” Honerva answered proudly. “It isn’t a matter of nepotism, if that’s what you think.”

“That wasn’t really my point. Don’t you think, maybe, it’d have been better to choose someone else?”

“No. Lotor should go. I can trust him to know what to do. Besides, as I said, he needs more friends. I thought maybe he might get on with some of those young new paladins you and the others have found.”

Zarkon grimaced. “Not all of them make for the best influence.”

“Yes, yes,” Honerva muttered dismissively, “but he wants to go. It’ll be good for his career too. He hasn’t actually gone on any expeditions outside of alliance territory.” She reached down and began petting his head affectionately and said inquiringly, "I don't see why you're protesting so much. Especially when you're both due to leave tomorrow…"

"I am merely airing my concerns," Zarkon explained tiredly. 

“What is it that you fear, husband?” Honerva asked, making an accurate guess. “Is it this new successor you are unsure of?”

Zarkon waved a hand. “No. He is harmless enough. If unaware of the effect he has had.”

“Then what?”

Zarkon lay staring at the ceiling. There was a very tangible idea in his head. One that past experiences had proven to be fully plausible. Even so, it sounded paranoid even in his head.

“The—the complications with my people. The ones on Earth. Some of them feel very strongly about it. With Lotor coming with me, I can not help but fear there may be temptation for…shortcuts.”

“You speak broadly,” Honerva said, growing serious, “but you are referring to a specific person, are you not?”

Zarkon grimaced and laid his arm over his eyes.

“Who?” his wife prodded. “Is it that man you have told me about? Your former commander?”

Unwillingly, he nodded. It was, admittedly, a monstrous thought. He and Kolivan hadn’t exactly been _friends_ for some time, but that didn’t quite justify the poisonous suspicion that had seeped into his mind.

“You are afraid he might use or hurt Lotor?” Her petting had stopped, and the tone of her voice changed.

Zarkon swallowed. Honerva was always a terror where Lotor was concerned. Anyone who assumed she’d be less deadly due to not being a Galran mother was doomed to be proven horribly wrong.

“I—” He hesitated. “N-No. I mean…he was never that sort of man.”

“When you knew him?”

“Yes.”

“That was a long time ago, though.”

“It was.” He sighed.

Despite being a popular and well-respected leader, Zarkon had few people he could call friends. His fellow paladins made up a majority of such people. Even before he’d earned the crown, there hadn't been many people he’d gotten on with. There had been comradery, of course, as there always was in the military, but Zarkon had had few people he could really have claimed to be close to.

Kolivan had been one of the few.

They had always had differences of opinion. It was natural given their different stations in life. Zarkon was higher born than Kolivan, though that fact never seemed to color the other man's opinion of him. That had been part of the reason they’d gotten on so well.

He’d been an intelligent, quick thinking, and skilled soldier with a deep sense of honor and empathy. Stern and noncommittal, he’d never been the most popular trainee, but people tended to listen when he spoke. Not easily intimidated, Kolivan had had no trouble approaching and even competing with Zarkon, who had been bigger, stronger, and more experienced than the other young recruits.

“People do change, husband,” Honerva said, her voice dropping, “and not always for the better.”

It was such an in-character comment that Zarkon couldn’t help but smile. There was no greater example of the key difference between his wife and his good friend Alfor than that sentence.

“Yes,” he agreed, “but I have no reason to think that is the case here. Kolivan and I have always disagreed. This tension between us and our fallout is all a direct result of that fact.”

“Then why the fear?”

Zarkon felt his lip twitch. Unconsciously, he fingered the scar over his eye and whispered, “The past.”

He felt Honerva stiffen through the mattress. “Y-Yes.” Her voice cracked. “That is true.”

“It is paranoia. I have no basis for these fears.”

“It is not paranoia if the past has proven you correct,” Honerva said coldly.

“Yes.” Zarkon sighed. “I’m not sure. That’s the damned thing. I have no way of being sure.”

“There is only one way to be sure.”

“Taking Lotor with me. I know.”

“He doesn't need to go,” Honerva said quickly. “I can come up with some reason—”

Zarkon raised his hand, “No. It wouldn’t work. It is too short notice. Besides.” He gave his wife a knowing smile. “He would argue. And you are correct. This trip will be good for him.”

He closed his eyes.

“You need to sleep,” Honerva said gently. “We have an early day tomorrow.”

“Yes,” he said dreamily, “whatever comes. I will deal with it.”

Zarkon could feel sleep creeping up on him.

“Nothing will happen. Not again.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Now I fully expect to hear from you once your initial business on Earth is complete.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I will need a full report of how the prosthetics installation goes. Include any inconsistencies in the process. Do not hesitate to contact me if anything goes wrong.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And if there is any trouble or you expect to be delayed for any reason I am to be updated immediately.”

“Yes.” Zarkon and Lotor both droned.

Honerva frowned at them both, “I am serious. Earth is far outside of Alliance territory and any message will take days to reach me.”

“I know, Mother,” Lotor sighed, clearly having had to go through this same discussion before, “You remind me everytime I leave the planet.”

“Yet you did not contact me once while you were going about the Empire.”

“I was keeping busy!”

“Even so, I think it best we leave this responsibility to your father.”

Lotor huffed as his father swelled with importance.

“It shall be done, beloved. You can rely on me.”

“I know I can.”

She offered Zarkon her hand, which he took ceremoniously. Kissing the knuckles delicately, he looked down into Honerva’s golden eyes and held his gaze there longingly.

Lotor looked away. 

Only with his mother did his father ever dare to show such open and blatant affection. Spouses enjoyed a level of open intimacy on Daibazaal that few other relationships were allowed to express. Children were supposed to follow closely behind in terms of intimacy but...

“If that is all,” Lotor quietly interrupted, “then father and I should be going. If we wait any longer we may be late.”

“Of course,” Honerva agreed, much to Zarkon’s disappointment, “I should have a portal open in a matter of moments.”

Then, standing almost on tip toe, she reached up far enough to touch both of their faces. 

“Take care of one another?”

“Naturally.” Both father and son said at once in a tone of confidence. They both then glanced at each other before looking away hurriedly.

Honerva sighed.

Good enough.

* * *

“Should I be polishing my armour or something?”

Blaytz glanced up from the bench. At the other end of the locker room he spotted Lance eyeing his paladin armour. He gave a half smile and waved dismissively.

“Naw, you’re good kiddo,” Blaytz replied. “Coran gave them all a fresh polish yesterday.”

Lance shut his eyes as he tapped his foot. “Then.. maybe I should polish the Blue Lion or-”

“Calm down,” Blaytz said as he rose and placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen Zarkon.”

Lance pouted. “No, but he wasn’t exactly impressed with us last time. Shouldn’t we be trying to change his mind?”

Blaytz mulled that over. Lance wasn’t wrong, but he also knew Zarkon wasn’t easy to please. The truth was they could spend days washing every corner of the Garrison and Zarkon would lock eyes on the one speck of dust they missed.

Besides, Blaytz knew it wasn’t their presentation that was the problem. He had a feeling that if Lotor had been the next Black Paladin Zarkon would suddenly feel much warmer towards the new set of paladins.

“Don’t sweat too much about it,” Blaytz replied in a reassuring tone. “It took me years to get Zarkon’s respect and even then there are still times he’s less than impressed with me.”

Lance bit his lower lip. “Still I want to do something…” A thought seemed to suddenly strike him as he snapped his fingers. “Hey, you know Zarkon’s kid, right?”

Blaytz frowned. “Lotor? Yeah, but I haven’t been to Daibazaal for years-”

“Great, great,” Lance cut in as he bounced a bit. “What if we were to show them around? You know, show Lotor our best side? They might put in a good word for us.”

Blaytz was about to say no, but then paused and really thought about it. If part of the reason Zarkon was so prickly to the new paladins really did have to do with Lotor, then the kids making friends with the boy might actually improve their leader's opinion. “That’s...actually not a bad idea.”

Lance’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Blaytz chuckled as he patted his shoulder. “Yeah, kiddo, although I should warn you Lotor has always been a bit of a loner kid.”

Lance shrugged. “Hey, can’t be any worse than, Keith.”

“True,” Blaytz said with a nod. “Still, I should-”

Suddenly his communicator beeped. Blaytz frowned as he checked it and saw it was from Nalquod. 

“Sorry Lance, just a sec.” He frowned as he put on his helmet. “Queen Luxia, everything alright?”

He heard a sigh. “I’m sorry to trouble you Blaytz, but could you please come home for a bit?”

Blaytz’s eyes hardened. “What happened?”

“Nothing life threatening,” Luxia replied, “but there was a bit of a misunderstanding between us and Planet Tharog.”

Blaytz went quiet as his eye twitched. “It was Nemor again wasn’t it?”

“.......Yes.”

Blaytz growled causing Lance to jump slightly. “You really need to retire him as a diplomat.”

“I promise you I will consider it later, but could you please come help ease tensions,” Luxia pleaded. “I would rather not accidently start a war.”

“I’ll be there in a few vargas,” Blaytz replied. “Just try to keep them busy until I get there.”

“Thank you,” Luxia replied before the message ended.

Lance crossed his arms. “Everything okay?”

“Yes and no,” Blaytz replied as he rubbed his neck. “I need to head back to Nalquod and calm things down a bit.”

“Want me to come with you?” Lance asked excitedly as he puffed out his chest. “I mean as a paladin in training I should see how to be a diplomat, right?”

“Yes, but I’ll save you the headache in this case,” Blaytz said as he patted Lance’s shoulder. He always wanted to show Lance his homeworld but he would rather it be a more positive experience than fixing a political slip up. “I need you guys to stay here and hold the fort.”

“Uh, okay, yeah,” Lance said as he a hand through his hair. “So, should I go show Lotor around?”

“You can try it,” Blaytz said as he patted his shoulder, “just try not to be too pushy, okay?”

Lance gave a thumbs up. “Promise! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everything goes as planned.”

Blaytz gave a nod as he left. Part of him really didn’t want to leave. With Zarkon’s crew coming and the Blazar event going on there was bound to be some tension. However, Zakron wasn’t a total idiot. Surely everyone could keep the peace for a day until he got back.

* * *

“Does the dress fit?” Lotor asked, his back to the screen. He kept his eyes focused on the datapad in his hands, but his ears were trained for a response.

One tap.

“Good. You are not having any trouble?” 

A pause.

Two taps.

Lotor lowered the datapad and looked at the wall, “Are you certain?”

Another pause.

Two taps.

Lotor hesitated. He and Narti were fairly close. Closer than he was with anyone else. However, Narti was still, well,  _ a lady _ .

“You are aware it is one tap for yes and two taps for no?”

One tap.

He still hesitated.

“Are you decent?”

One tap.

Oh, thank the ancients.

Lotor abandoned the datapad on a table and came around the corner of the screen.

Narti was, as her taps had indicated, fully clothed in the dress and leggings he’d gifted her. Only catch was that one of the sleeves had caught around her elbow, the hem of the skirt stuck in the band of her leggings, and the red head scarf draped around her neck.

“It… occurs to me that I should have had Mother or Dayak show you how to put this on.”

Narti had never actually gotten to wear a dress before now. Typically she wore a set of incredibly plain clothing that only just set her apart from the servants. Wrap around robes and tunics made up the majority of what was in her closet. This was the fanciest, most expensive, and complicated piece of clothing she’d ever worn..

Lotor assisted as best he could. Straightening her skirt and sleeve before helping to tie the string in the back. 

“We should be landing soon,” Lotor said absently as he wrapped the scarf around Narti’s head and adjusted it about her shoulders. “The initial disembarkment is important. It is the first impression many of these humans will have of us.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Well, first impression if you don’t count all the subpar ones before this.”

Narti made no movement to interrupt him. He had already explained all the details to her before. Going over all the details was just a roundabout way of stifling his nerves without actually seeming to do so.

“Father and the others will go deal with the officials. I am worried about Throk and Morvok acting out, but they’ll likely behave if Father and Sendak are looking over their shoulders.” He let go of the scarf and stood back. “Meanwhile you, Kova, and I will be showing these humans what bioengineering looks like.”

Lotor looked over the dress. He was definitely going to have to give the tailor a hearty recommendation. Narti could be difficult to make proper clothes for given her tail. However this outfit complimented her figure without drawing too much attention to the extra appendage. One could even manage to completely miss both her tail and the fact she had no eyes given the way the fabric lay.

Both were things that tended to put people off of Narti when they looked at her for the first time. Lotor was certain that if people could just be eased into the things that made her so physically unique they’d be less likely to avoid her and actually get a chance to get to know her. Then they could be eased into her rarer traits.

“That looks marvelous on you! How does it feel?”

Narti tilted her head in thought before signing, “It is more material than I am used to.”

“Yes, dresses tend to cover a lot more. Do you think you can walk comfortably?”

She pulled at the skirt and moved forward experimentally before nodding.

“Good. I want them to see you in father’s colors,” he explained. “No one can mistake you for a servant or regular soldier dressed like this. You are a member of mine and father’s household. No matter what anyone says.”

Narti let the hem of the skirt go. She could understand Lotor’s reasoning however she couldn’t help but feel apprehensive now that they were actually setting out for the planet. Would something as simple as a wardrobe change really have the kind of effect he thought it would?

It was hard to say. Lotor’s ideas tended to vary in terms of effectiveness.

There were times when he would see an opportunity to ‘make a splash’ in the court only to find that the results of his efforts were unsatisfactory. Lotor was an expert at playing a crowd and getting the right kind of attention. Yet,somehow it never gained him the kind of respect that he so desired from his father’s followers.

His smaller ideas, however, tended to bear unexpected results. Narti had been there as Lotor had sat alone in his room on Throk’s ship going through all their various trade deals with Daibazaal’s colonies, writing up reports to his father, and making plans for how to turn the whole thing into an effective machine of trade. The net result being that the native leadership of many of the Galra’s most fruitful colonies now thought very highly of Prince Lotor.

Really, most of the average citizens of the Galran Empire seemed to like Lotor and his mother. At least from what Narti had observed from her time spent outside of the palace. Neither of the two seemed to really notice though. Empress Honerva couldn’t be bothered to care, and Lotor always seemed way more concerned with forcing as many high officials as possible into recognizing him as a formidable force.

It’d almost be entertaining if it wasn’t so sad.

“Will we get to see much of Earth?” Narti asked.

Lotor stopped and looked thoughtful.

“I am… not certain,” he admitted, “The initial installation will take some time and will have to begin almost immediately after we disembark. We may remain over their night cycle but beyond that it depends on how long my expertise of the prosthetic will be needed. Mother’s designs usually require little maintenance, however, and any adjustment period this new paladin will need to go through can likely be done without our involvement. The longest we will need would have to be the equivalent of two of their solar cycles. No more than that.”

Narti’s shoulders slacked in vague disappointment. 

“Were you hoping for more?”

She nodded, “I wanted to see their trade.”

Lotor hummed, “I can not say you would likely be missing much. Earth does experience some extraterrestrial trade, but I can’t imagine it is what you might call a boutique experience. What exactly were you hoping to find?”

Narti didn’t get a chance to answer. 

There was a polite knock and Zarkon’s voice echoed through the door, “Prince Lotor? I must speak with you.”

Lotor glanced at Narti who shrugged. He strode across the room, picking the datapad back up as he went, and opened the door. His father stepped in nearly the second the opening was clear. 

“We must discuss the landing-” He stopped short at the sight of Narti. Zarkon sighed, “I do not know why I keep assuming you are alone.”

“I do not know either.” Lotor said, “Nor do I know why you keep up the farce of pretending Narti isn’t more than worthy to hear whatever you have to say.”

This wasn’t quite true. Lotor did know why his father insisted on privacy. Member of their household though she was, Narti wasn’t a proper part of the royal family. Nor was she a properly ranked member of the military. The only reason she wasn’t unceremoniously thrown out of every meeting was because none of their forebears had ever thought up any rules, social or otherwise, that addressed her peculiar situation.

For Zarkon, who was always insistent on following proper etiquette, this vagueness always seemed to leave him for a loss. Lotor didn’t know why his father didn’t just make a set of rules that covered Narti and be done with it, or otherwise bestow upon her a proper title and ranking. Of course, for either to happen one did have to be of the proper age and absolutely no one knew precisely how old Narti was. Not even Narti herself.

“Regardless,” Zarkon said tiredly, “I must insist we be left alone.”

He gave a meaningful nod towards Narti.

“You haven’t even said anything about her new dress.” Lotor criticized.

Zarkon blinked and looked at the girl again, seeming to only have just noticed the change in clothing. 

“Since when do you wear dresses?” He asked, not unkindly. 

Narti signed a reply.

Zarkon stared at her fingers intently, clearly trying to sparse out the meaning. Over time he had caught on to the meaning of some of the most common hand signals she used to communicate, but he remained at a loss the moment her replies became too complex for him. Lotor couldn’t help but think his father should be far better at understanding her after living in the palace with her for six years. 

“A… present?” Zarkon looked at Lotor searchingly, checking the translation.

“Yes. From me.” Lotor explained, “She didn’t have any proper clothing for such an occasion. I did not think you would mind.”

Zarkon tilted his head as he looked at it. Narti, sensing his eyes on her, fingered the red scarf around her head nervously.

“I do not,” he said finally before adding kindly, “It looks quite fine on you, Narti.”

Seeming pleased with this response, Narti took her leave of the room with Kova following at her heels. Lotor closed the door after her.

“Thank you for that,” Lotor said quietly after a moment. “She enjoys compliments.”

“Most women do, I think,” Zarkon said sagely as though speaking from long experience.

“What do you need to discuss?”

“Personnel arrangements. Who will be accompanying you, and other things,” Zarkon answered. “As well as if you have everything together for the surgery.”

Lotor looked at the datapad in his hand, “I should have everything in order. Mother and I sent messages to Earth about the needed arrangements weeks ago. So long as the directions were followed, it should take no time at all. As for accompaniment, Narti will come with me of course.”

Zarkon frowned, “Is that wise?”

“Why not? Narti accompanies me everywhere.”

“Yes, normally. But this is not a normal occasion.”

Lotor paused in his work and looked at his father, “What are you trying to say?”

“I think it would be better if you took someone more representative of our military.”

Lotor thought he knew who he was referring to. 

“I am NOT taking Sendak with me,” he said with finality. 

Sendak had acted as a bodyguard to the young prince when he’d been a child. Though uneventful, it was a position only given to the most trusted and highly honored of galra. While the time they’d spent together had made Lotor fond of the older man, it didn’t mean he wanted to have him as a shadow every time he stepped foot off of Daibazaal.

“I was not thinking of Sendak. You needn't act so offended.” Zarkon said firmly, “I was thinking of Morvok.”

Lotor’s mouth opened, “But he would not be of any aid!”

“No, but he’s a far more expected representative.” Zarkon then added meaningfully, “He is also your follower now. Him accompanying you on this occasion is to only be expected.”

The Prince snapped his mouth shut. There was a moment of long silence as he tried to think of a response. He tried to read his father’s face. There was nothing there to read, however.

Backed into a corner Lotor just sighed, “Very well. Does that mean you wish to take Narti with you then?”

“No, that will not do either. It may be best if she remains here.”

“Alone? On the ship?”

“Not strictly on the ship.” Zarkon said, hoping it would calm his son's mood. “As one of my subjects she should be free to go wherever she pleases.”

“As long as she isn’t seen with either of us, is that it?”

Zarkon pinched the bridge of his nose. His son could make truly great leaps in logic at times. He admired Lotor’s loyalty to his friend, but at times it made him act irrationally.

“Do not put words into my mouth,” Zarkon said scoldingly, “I am only thinking of ideas that will give the best impression.”

“As long as they are your ideas.”

Zarkon growled. Lotor was really going too far in his defensiveness.

Thankfully the growl seemed to have dampened the Prince’s mood.

“Very well, sire,” Lotor said bitterly as he turned back to his datapad. “It shall be done. Is there anything else?”

Zarkon hated it when Lotor called him sire. He never meant it as it was intended. It was always either sarcastic, or said in such a defeated tone that Zarkon seriously wondered if he did it on purpose in an attempt to pull at his father’s heartstrings. 

“We should be arriving soon. You should think about getting changed.”

“I am already changed,” Lotor said offhandedly, as he flipped through something on the datapads screen.

“You are wearing  _ that _ ?” 

Lotor’s fists clenched. “Yes.”

Zarkon glanced over his robes. They were by no means inappropriate. Finely woven robes dyed the dull red of his household with gold trim around the seams, with a cloth belt of matching color. It would not have been out of place in the midst of the finest of Daibazaals events.

However…

“You should wear your armor.”

Lotor glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He held his gaze on him for a moment before looking back at the screen “We are not going into battle, father.”

Zarkon shifted on his feet. It was true they weren’t entering a war zone but… all he could think about were his fears. If things went wrong and Lotor got caught up in it…

However, he wasn’t about to tell Lotor of his fears. There was no reason to heap pointless worries onto the boy right before he was about to perform an operation. That being said, he still wanted Lotor to wear protection. For Zarkon’s peace of mind if nothing else.

Only difficulty would be convincing him.

“No, but it shows you are prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Lotor asked in exasperation, “A full on assault by doctors armed with disinfectant?”

“Prepared in general,” Zarkon huffed, “Even the tamest of peace talks can be interrupted by a sudden matter of grave importance. It is best to show how ready and willing we are to spring into action.”

“These people already seem to suspect us of trying to take over their planet from the inside out. Do you really think that Admiral woman or her contemporaries will react well to all of us stepping off the ship, fully armored, looking ready to fight?”

Zarkon frowned at this argument. He knew he was an intimidating man. Throughout his career as both a soldier, a leader, and a diplomat that fact had served him well. Not that he particularly threatened the people he spoke to, but the ability to inflict just the right amount of fear into his opponents without actually doing anything had been the deciding factor during more than a few peace talks. It was a completely different approach from just threatening people, and it hurt Zarkon somewhat that his son seemed to assume that was the effect he wanted.

“It will make us seem more professional,” he insisted, edging closer to Lotor and dropping his voice. “I really have to insist.”

Lotor was glaring at the screen now. “You realize we are literally about to exit the wormhole? The second we leave hyperspace we’ll be half an hour from landing. You are really going to start an argument about how I dress myself right now?!”

“Yes.”

His son’s eyes shot over to him and studied his face. Their gazes held. A minute passed. Then another.

Finally Lotor sighed in defeat. 

“Fine,” He agreed bitterly, much to Zarkon’s relief. “I am not in the mood to argue over this even if I  _ did  _ have the time.”

Lotor shut off the console and turned to go change.

“And the helmet!” Zarkon reminded him. “I do not want to see you without the helmet!”

“Alright, alright, if it’ll end this discussion any faster,” the prince sighed before muttering sarcastically. “Do you want me to carry a shield as well?”

Zarkon blinked at this. It was certainly an idea.

“If we look we may be able to find-”

“No!” Lotor snapped angrily, “I am putting my foot down there.”

He then turned away and marched out the door stewing. 

Zarkon let out a breath. 

* * *

It was the first time one of their ships could land on Earth’s surface. The Galaxy Garrison had given them special permission for the occasion, although with a few measures imposed. Still it was a marked improvement when compared to their last visit.

Lotor was relieved by the change. His father and himself could have tolerated it if the measures of their previous arrival had been imposed, but all of the Commanders were more strong minded. He doubted that even his father could calm their indignation if they got it into their heads to get offended.

Unfortunately, while Earth’s arrangements worked towards Lotor’s intentions everything else did not. 

It wasn’t that Lotor particularly hated having to wear a helmet. It was just that he hated having to  _ needlessly  _ wear one or, for that matter, being ordered to do so. Especially when he was quite certain there was no one on this planet capable of, or would benefit much from, hurting him.

However, his father was very set in his ways. When presenting themselves to potential allies the Galra had always worn their armor. Their military might and power had always been their peoples greatest strength and the trait they had tried their hardest to display. Lotor was quite certain that kind of thing did well during the war, but these were far more civilized times and therefore meant that they would be required to take on a much more civilized approach.

_ Just try saying that to father _ , Lotor thought to himself as they all prepared to disembark.

None of this was playing out quite how he’d wanted it to. Narti was getting left behind in favor of Morvok, his father was off to meet with the Earth Galra with only two attendants (what they would think of  _ that  _ Lotor couldn’t tell), and they would all be traipsing around looking like tone-death pillocks. 

“Yes, I know what I said before,” Lotor whispered to Narti, who was not taking well to the idea of sitting on her tail around the hangar while all the others got to see the base, “but you know it is impossible to argue with father. I will make it up to you somehow, I swear.”

She signed a response.

Lotor sighed, “I told you, it is unlikely we will have the time to look at Earth’s interstellar market. I apologize for this not turning out the way I hoped but you know what father is like.”

“What am I like?” 

Of course he was behind him.

“Nothing,” Lotor snapped, trying to ignore Narti’s furious signing.

“Is Narti upset?” Zarkon asked as he watched the girl stamp her foot.

“No, father, she is very much looking forward to a long boring day of sitting alone in the hangar.”

“She need not remain in the hangar.” Zarkon said nonchalantly as he slipped his own helmet over his head. “As I said before, as one of my subjects she is free to wander where she pleases.”

Narti gestured at Zarkon triumphantly. 

“In a place unfamiliar to you, surrounded by people who likely can not understand you,” Lotor pointed out stubbornly. “I know it is boring, and it is not what I had planned, but with no one to guide you I would prefer if you remained here where you won’t get lost.”

Narti deliberately turned to Zarkon and gestured for him to back her up.

“I fear Lotor has a point, I would also prefer if you were with a guide.” Zarkon watched sympathetically as she slouched in disappointment. “If it were not for our currently shaky relations with Earth I would ask the garrison for someone to give you a tour.”

Crossing her arms, Narti gave an unwilling nod of assent, her tail swishing irritably on the floor.

Lotor adjusted the containment unit that housed the new prosthetic under his arm and tried to think of something conciliatory to say but at that moment the doors of the ship opened.

* * *

Iverson hadn’t wanted this role. The less involved he was in the confusing twists and turns of the Galra’s culture war the better. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation or the long standing consequences, but there were people who were well equipped for this kind of job and he wasn’t one of them.

Except, orders were orders.

He tried not to sweat as the massive docking doors of the spaceship opened to reveal Zarkon, four heavily armored Galra, and, most disturbing for just how out of place they were, someone wearing a fine looking dress and headscarf with a cat perched on their shoulder. Iverson tried exceptionally hard to keep his eye focused on Zarkon rather than let it wander over the group.

Iverson saluted as they approached. “Emperor Zarkon, I am Commander Iverson of the Galaxy Garrison.”

There was probably more he was supposed to say, but Iverson found he couldn’t remember it while under Zarkon’s red-eyed stare. When they stopped in front of him, he remembered himself and extended a welcoming hand to the Emperor. Never a bad place to start a handshake. Zarkon responded by reaching out, bypassing his hand, and grasping his arm in a firm but generally welcome manner.

Right, that was how he’d seen a lot of the visiting alien dignitaries greet each other. It was their version of a handshake or something of the like. Of course he would forget something as simple and straightforward as that.

Iverson cleared his throat awkwardly. “As for the matter that brought you here?”

“Ah, yes,” Zarkon said. He gestured towards a slim galra at his side wearing a helmet and holding some cylindrical container under his arm. “We have brought the prosthetic for—” he hesitated for just a fraction of a moment, “Shiro.” The name was said, not insultingly, but in a way that showed the speaker wasn’t used to using it.

“I will make sure it makes it to the med bay,” Iverson replied.

“Actually,” the leaner Galra said, “I will take it. I fear the installation process is a bit complicated. It is not that I doubt the competence of your medical staff, but since this is a new model it is best I am there to walk them through the procedure.”

“O-Oh,” Iverson hesitated. Nobody had walked him through this part. Surely, Ulaz already knew about this? “Very well, then allow us to guide you there.”

“In the meantime, we shall meet with our, ah,  _ representative  _ on this planet,” Zarkon said.

That seemed to be the end of it. Iverson sent one of the men to guide the leaner Galra to the med bay with the shortest of them toddling after him in what he could only guess was supposed to be an important strut. He would have to accompany Zarkon until he met up with Kolivan, but after that he was home free. There just seemed to be one last thing...

“What, uh, what is  _ she  _ going to do?” Iverson asked nodding towards the lady in the dress.

He could have sworn he heard the tall galra with the skinny arms snigger, before the other shot him a glare.

“She will be remaining here,” Zarkon said carefully, “to… oversee things.”

The girl said nothing but crossed her arms in the universal expression of teenage frustration.

“Oh… alright then,” Iverson said, turning away in a hurry to end the conversation.

* * *

"What a small base this is."

Lotor continued forward trying to ignore Morvoks babbling. Unfortunately, he couldn't stop himself from commenting, "It is large, not small."

"But surely my Prince this building is not large enough to-" 

"It is one of many. Did you not catch sight of the base as we descended?" Of course, Lotor knew he hadn't, but he liked seeing the man squirm when he asked, "It is a sprawling thing with many buildings and people inside. To say nothing of the settlement not far away."

Morvok frowned. 

"I do wish Narti were here," Lotor sighed without thinking. She would have loved hearing him tell her about the base. She’d also have been insanely frustrated about not getting to fully explore it, but it was the companionship that was the thing.

Morvok, however, seemed to assume something different. 

"Oh you do not need  _ her _ my Prince. I am here to assist you!"

Perhaps it was the way he said  _ her _ but Lotor found himself being fed up with the man's presence. The moment they arrived outside the med bays waiting room, he said sharply, " _ You _ are not assisting me." 

Morvok looked up at him in surprise."But the Emperor said-" 

"That you would  _ accompany _ me. You have done so. Now you will wait out here." Lotor thought seriously for a moment before adjusting his tone and saying in a voice of faux appreciation. "I require someone capable to intercept any news in regards to my father's diplomatic venture. You understand it is  _ imperative _ positively  _ vital _ that I only be disturbed for-" the prince paused waving his hand in some vague attempt to conjure up some suitably illustrious sounding terminology, "-matters pertaining to my royal duty."

He'd floundered a bit in the end, but judging from Morvok’s expression it hardly mattered. The Commander was positively brimming with self importance. He actually buffed his nails on the exposed underbody of his armor while giving an (obviously fake) glance of humility to the side. 

"Of  _ course  _ my Prince," Morvok glanced back disinterestedly at his nails, "You can count on me."

Lotor was quite certain he couldn't. But if an overinflated sense of his own importance is what it took to keep Morvok out of his hair over the next six hours, then it was worth his inevitable gloating in the barracks back home. 

The human soldier opened the door and they entered what Lotor could only assume was the waiting room. Two Galra, one male and one female, wearing garrison uniforms were standing in front of the operating room with their hands tucked behind their backs. There also stood a lean male human but judging by his age and style of uniform he was likely only a cadet. 

Why were they here?

“Well,” Morvok commented as he eyed the female. “That woman is lovely on the eyes. Why is she on a lowly planet like Ear-.”

“Morvok, be quiet,” Lotor hissed before he stepped toward the group. 

“Greetings,” the woman spoke. “I am Krolia Kogane.”

She offered a hand which Lotor was not hesitant to shake. “Greetings, I am Prince Lotor and I will be the one in charge of the operation.”

The human narrowed his eyes as Krolia exchanged a frown with the other Galra before speaking to Lotor.

“We had assumed you would only be delivering the prosthetic,” Krolia replied.

“Forgive us, but I’m afraid it is a complicated procedure and my mother thought it would be best if I was present for it.” Lotor held up the case. “However, I will more than gladly accept any of your officers who you believe can be useful during the surgery.”

“That would be Ulaz, our top medical officer,” Krolia replied and pointed to the male Galra. “This is Thace, he also has medical experience and was going to assist Ulaz.”

Lotor gave a nod. “Considering how delicate the procedure is it would be best to not have too many hands.” He looked to Thace. “However, if you would feel more reassured having both you and your medical officer in the room I would understand.”

Lotor couldn’t blame them. It was only natural they would feel better with their own people performing the operation, but there was a higher risk of the operation going wrong and that would likely worsen the relationship between Daibazaal and Earth.

Krolia grasped her chin and looked to Thace. “Go ask Ulaz for his opinion.”

Thace nodded as he tossed one more side glance to Lotor before he turned and entered the operating room.

Morvok cleared his throat. “May I ask why exactly the human is here?” He gave a laugh. “I’m not familiar with the age rate of humans but he doesn’t look old enough to be an officer.”

“This is my son Keith,” Krolia said as she patted the boy’s shoulder. “He is the next Red Paladin in training. He’s here to support Shiro.”

“Ah,” Lotor said with a nod. “King Alfor’s protege.” 

He recalled his father muttering that a half Galra was among the group of the paladins in training.

Morvok blinked as he pointed. “Wait, son? Is he adopted? He doesn’t look like he’s part Galra—”

“Which is hardly any of our business,” Lotor snapped briskly as he felt his eye twitch and sighed. He then made certain to look at Keith. “Please pay no mind to my associate. It is very admirable for you to want to give moral support for your future leader.”

Keith shrugged. “It’s fine, I’m used to it and I’m here because Shiro is one of my oldest friends.” He shot a dirty look at Morvok. “Also, for the record,  _ yes.  _ I am half Galra.”

“Oh, I meant no disrespect,” Morvok said with a smile and bowed in Krolia’s direction. “At the very least I can see your son inherited his good looks from you.”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the room. Keith cringed, Krolia raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and Lotor resisted with all his willpower to not bang his forehead against the wall.

_ Ancients help me. He's actually attempting to flirt,  _ Lotor thought.

Thankfully, Thace returned and if he had heard what just occurred then he was a master at keeping a poker face.

“I spoke to both Ulaz and Shiro and said they were fine with only Lotor,” Thace said as he crossed his arms. “However, Ulaz requested that he be the one to sedate Shiro.”

“Yes, of course,” Lotor replied with a nod.

If Ulaz hadn’t said it he would have suggested it. Considering Shiro was selected to be the next Black Paladin, it was only logical he might have reservations being sedated by the one his mentor had been hoping to be his successor. Lotor had mentaly prepared himself for a potential discussion on the topic, and was relieved to have it temporarily avoided.

“If that matter is settled then it’s best we begin sooner than later,” Krolia said as she stepped aside and gestured to the operating room. “We will be waiting outside if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Lotor said with a quick bow. “I swear to perform this with the best of my capabilities.” He crossed his arms and shot his subordinate a sharp look before leaning over and whispering, “Also, Morvok, while I am in the room I do have one request of you.”

“Yes, my prince,” Morvok replied

“Do your best to keep your mouth shut,” Lotor hissed before he entered the operating room and let the door shut behind him

He spotted a Galra setting up medical instruments as a human was sitting up on the operating table. Whatever they were talking about, they abruptly went silent as Lotor entered.

“You are Ulaz I take it?” Lotor asked the Galran man.

The Galra nodded. “Yes, and I was just ensuring everything was set for the operation.”

“Excellent,” Lotor said as he set the case on the table. Cooly, he glanced over to the human. “And may I assume you are Shiro?”

“Yes,” the human replied slowly with a nod. “And you’re Prince Lotor, Emperor Zarkon’s son?”

“Indeed I am,” Lotor said quietly. He thought it best not to mention their previous meeting lest it bring up unfortunate memories.

Shiro silently looked him over objective and pointed. “Um...nice helmet, goes with the armour.”

Lotor sighed as he swiftly removed it. Shaking out his long white hair. “Just to be clear I only wore this on the insistence of my father.”

Ulaz said nothing, but gave a curious expression as Lotor smoothed out his hair and tugged the most stubborn strand away from his face. He swiftly turned away when the Prince glanced at him.

_ Perhaps he wasn’t expecting me to be half Altean,  _ Lotor thought to himself. It wasn’t the first time he had caught someone off guard by the reveal of his hair. His white hair, as well as his blue eyes, were a dead giveaway to his mixed heritage.

“Ah, I see,” Shiro replied as he used his arm to rub at his neck. “I realize this might be a bit awkward given the situation but I just wanted to say thank you for doing this.”

“It is my pleasure,” Lotor said in a neutral tone as he set aside the helmet and Ulaz handed him a robe and a hair cap. 

He hastily stole a glance over the human. He was tall, muscular, and even had a clear battle scar over his nose. 

_ A rather fitting image for the next black paladin,  _ Lotor thought to himself.  _ Although, I suppose in an odd sense this man is also my savior even if he doesn’t know it.  _

He tossed his thoughts aside as he opened the case. “Now I suggest we save any small talk for after the operation.” He turned the case around to give both Shiro and Ulaz a clear view of it, or more precisely, the shiny metallic arm inside, “We have much work to do.”

* * *

Krolia had to deal with flirts before. Not often but every now and then someone would approach and try their best to snag Krolia’s attention.

Such people had been a frequent annoyance to her as a teen, and their efforts usually resulted in a punch to the face. As well as a call to the nearest adult authority. Her father’s training had helped hone her patience and channel her annoyance so that all it too was a fierce glare to drive off any half hearted pursuer. 

Thankfully, it had barely happened after she came to Earth and it practically stopped completely once she and Kevin had gotten married. She had nearly forgotten what a catch some seemed to think she was. Until after her husband died.

It didn’t happen as often as it had in her youth but a few confident individuals had attempted to see if they had much of a chance with Krolia once it became clear that she was, technically, single. But usually a few firm ‘No’s’ proved sufficient to drive off any potential suitors.

It had been a long time since she had met anyone who couldn’t take a hint, and to top it all off, Commander Morvok had to be the most thickheaded flirt she had ever encountered. The idiot seemed immune to her glares and just went on talking as though she had fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“I am very important to the royal family you know,” Morvok bragged.

“Mmm,” Krolia said as she refused to look at him and instead focused on counting the tiles on the far wall.

“I have great connections,” Morvok continued. “I am more than capable of being able to properly pleasure a woman.”

Krolia sighed as she glanced to her other side.

Thace was keeping a watchful eye but was currently reading his tablet. Keith’s foot on the other hand was tapping against the floor as he let out a small growl

_ Uh oh, Keith is not liking this,  _ she frowned in thought.  _ Actually, I don’t believe he has ever seen anyone flirt with me besides his father.  _

“You must be curious about the current affairs of Daibazaal,” Morvok suggested.

“Not in the least,” Krolia stated flatly.

“Oh come now,” Morvok said with a wave of the hand, “you must miss the homeworld greatly. I’m certain you must desire to return.”

“If she did she wouldn’t be living on Earth,” Keith snapped.

Morvok twitched slightly as he glanced at Keith and said in a condescending voice. “With all due respect, I was speaking to your mother.”

Keith growled again as he rose. “Listen you, I-”

Krolia grabbed his wrist. “It’s alright,” she told her son firmly.

Keith froze as he glanced at his mother. “But Mom…”

Krolia gave him a reassuring smile. “Can you do me a favor and bring me some coffee from the cafeteria?”

Keith opened his mouth and then shut it as his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, sure, but I won’t be long okay.”

“I can take care of myself,” Krolia said with a reassuring pat.

Keith gave her hand a squeeze and cast one more murderous glare at Morvok before he left.

“Your son seems to have a bit of a temper,” Morvok commented as he watched the boy leave.

“He’s stressed and worried about his friend,” Krolia said as she returned to counting tiles. 

“Yes, yes of course,” Morvok replied, his voice switching back to what he seemed to think was an appealing tone. “Although, it’s still rather impressive that your son is a paladin, considering he is only half Galra.”

Krolia froze. Slowly, she turned her full attention to Morvok. “What do you mean?”

It was possible he misspoke. That he didn’t realize what he had just said.

Morvok seemed delighted he had Krolia’s full attention. “I mean, considering how weak and emotional half breeds tend to be, I never would have imagined one would be selected to be a paladin of Voltron.” He smiled at her clearly believing he was giving high praise. “You must be very proud.”

Krolia’s eyes narrowed. She tossed a sideways glance to Thace who was still currently pretending to be fully engrossed in his tablet.

She took in a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “I am very proud of my son but it has nothing to do with him being a paladin.”

“Oh, of course,” Morvok continued as he clapped his hands. “But I imagine it can be difficult since humans, from my understanding, can be such a weak species.”

Thace sucked in air between his teeth but remained still.

Krolia shut her eyes and debated her options. 

First option, strangle his neck right here and now. As satisfying as that would be that would cause far too much of a mess and the little Galra wouldn’t even understand what he did wrong.

Second option, murder him once he left the room where there’d be no witnesses but there would still be the issue of having to hide the body and the little twerp just wasn’t worth it.

It was at times like this that she recalled her father’s advice. “Play to your enemy’s pride until the moment is perfect then strike hard.

Krolia smirked as an idea came to her and she put on the sweetest smile.

“You don’t know much about humans do you?” she asked.

Thace paused as he suspiciously glanced up from his tablet.

Morvok shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not but I would be happy to learn more over dinner.”

Krolia crossed her arms. “I’m rather old fashioned when it comes to courting.” She gave a tight smile. “I’ll go on a date with you if you can defeat me in combot.”

Morvok blinked. “Combat?” He suddenly seemed uncertain. “Oh...um but I’m here as a diplomat—”

“—It can be one of the side matches,” Krolia explained as she leaned forward. “We Earth Galra host them alongside the Blazar tournament.”

Morvok raised an eyebrow. “That… is a bit unusual.”

“It’s only for fun,” Krolia cooed to lower his guard. “I rarely take part in them, but surely it would be a mere chore for such an experienced warrior as yourself.”

Krolia wondered if she had laid it on too thick, but Morvok’s grin proved he was lapping up the praise.

“Oh, yes of course,” Morvok said, “I am quite talented when it comes to the sword-”

“So, it’s agreed then,” Krolia said as she rose. “Beat me in a fight tomorrow and we will have dinner.”

Morvok seemed a bit baffled but gave a nod. “Uh, yes, then I agree to your terms, my lady.”

He glanced around. “Where is that cafeteria you mentioned? I am parched.”

“There is a water cooler just outside the room,” Krolia instructed.

“Ah, thank you,” Morvok said with a bow and a wink. “I shall only be a moment.”

Krolia kept still and didn’t utter a word asd Morvok turned and left.

Once he was out of earshot Thace whispered into her ear. “You are going to murder him, aren’t you?” 

Krolia crossed her arm as she whispered to Thace. “Does it bother you if I do?”

Thace shrugged. “Not particularly, but Kolivan might be against it. Killing diplomats does not strike a good image.”

Krolia scoffed as she waved a hand. “Don’t worry I won’t actually kill.” She gave a growl. “I’m only going to break every bone in his body.”

“Ah,” Thace said with a nod as he looked back to his tablet. “I’m sure Kolivan will be fine with that.”

* * *

Kolivan had been bracing himself for this. Zarkon may be stubborn and dead set on the old ways but he wasn’t a fool. He’d  _ never  _ been a fool.

Zarkon knew, doubtless, what a major political gesture providing Shiro’s new prosthetic was. Whether or not that was his reason for offering to provide it, Kolivan didn’t know. He preferred to think of it as an act of genuine nobility of the sort Zarkon had often performed in the old days. However, he had been ruling over Daibazaal for over two decades now. That experience would hinder the heedless nobility of any man.

There was no telling which was the real truth. Whether one or the other, both, or neither it did not matter. It didn’t change where Kolivan and the other Earth Galra stood.

If Zarkon meant to make a song and dance of the affair then he would not come alone. In the past, Galran Emperors would typically take at least three Commanders with them to political meetings. It was a show of power as well as a means to provide added protection to their leader in potentially hostile territory.

This was not hostile territory. However, it wouldn’t be outside of Zarkon’s character to revive the old tradition for this visit as a show of authority. At least, with the kind of character Zarkon had had all those years ago…

_ “You needn’t have struck Gurot.” _

_ Zarkon paused in his eating. _

_ The barracks canteen was crowded, as it always was after a ship returned from a mission. It wasn’t loud though. Everyone was exhausted and were now only interested in food, bed, and, in some sad cases, mourning. _

_ “Needn’t I?” Zarkon asked, poking at his food. “I wonder about that. Would he have followed Commander Krovok’s orders if I hadn’t?” _

_ Kolivan didn’t answer. Gurot had been undeniably insubordinate and chosen an unfortunate time for it. A brigand of Nalquodian pirates had launched an attack. Not a time to question authority. _

_ Then again, there never seemed to be a time for that in the Galran military. _

_ “If he had continued there was a very real risk it could have harmed the rest of the crew. I will not apologize for doing what I had to do.” _

_ “Perhaps,” Kolivan replied carefully, “but I fear the day may come when you will ‘do what you have to’ but find that you regret the results.” _

_ Zarkon grimaced, “You are amazingly dower today, Lieutenant.” _

_ “I can't help it,” he sighed. He hoped Zarkon would move on, but his hope had been for naught. _

_ “What is it that troubles you?” Zarkon asked, genuine concern creeping into his voice. _

_ Kolivan shut his eyes. That was the trouble with Zarkon. He was genuinely well-intentioned and yet Kolivan already knew he wouldn’t understand. In a way it was why he couldn’t dislike Zarkon. The care in him towards his fellow soldiers, his people, and to Kolivan were all so genuine that it made him want to make Zarkon understand certain things. _

_ But he never would. _

_ “Barzu has renounced his position.” _

_ Zarkon’s eyebrows shot up, “Renounced his position?! What for? He was well on his way to becoming a General.” _

_ “He has chosen to move out to one of the colonies and take up residence there.” _

_ Already lines of thought creased Zarkon’s forehead as he struggled to understand, “He is taking up a new post there?” _

_ “No,” Kolivan hesitated, “He will be living there as a civilian. He has left the military. Permanently.” _

_ Zarkon stared at him, “But that would mean giving up all that he has earned! He’ll drop down to the level of a- a-” _

_ “A  _ what _ Zarkon?” Kolivan had an edge in his voice. _

_ Zarkon froze, clearly reconsidering his words, “I mean… he will be but an ordinary citizen. His rank in the caste system will drop to the bottom.” _

_ Staring down at his plate to avoid glaring at the man across from him, Kolivan took a tentative sip from his drink, “Become a peasant, you mean.” _

_ “I did not say that!”  _

_ “You were thinking it,” Kolivan set his drink down with a harder clink than was strictly necessary. He himself had been low born, and he knew better than to directly challenge the words of his ‘betters’ with no recourse. Even if one of said ‘betters’ was supposed to be his close friend. _

_ Zarkon decided to shift back to the focus of the conversation, “But why? That is my point. For what reason would he give up such a bright future?” _

_ Kolivan rubbed the back of his neck. This was going to be the hard part. _

_ “He… met someone. Out there. On the colony.” _

_ “Met someone? When did that happen?” _

_ “Last year. He was stationed at one of the far out energy refineries remember?” _

_ “I see. Why did he not say? I would have been more than happy for him. Still, I do not see what that has to do with him giving up his position. Plenty of the soldiers here have significant others.” _

_ “It… has a rather lot to do with it, actually.” Kolivan muttered, deliberately lowering his voice. _

_ Zarkon looked at him, realization seemingly dawning, “They are lower ranked than he is? Is that why? But in such a case the person in question would naturally rise along with him. Of course, it would be…” He stopped, clearly taking the moment to check his sensitivity, before powering on, “I mean, people would say things, but that is hardly a reason to throw out his future career.” _

_ “It is, uh, it is not quite like that Zarkon.” Kolivan whispered. He really didn’t want to look at the other man's face. “He is not with one of the colonists, Zarkon. They are, uh, one of the natives. She is… she is expecting.” _

_ There was a long prolonged silence. _

_ “I… see.” Zarkon’s voice was low and cold, “then it is for the best. Such a lapse in discipline and judgement is a clear sign of his unsuitability for leadership.” _

_ They didn’t speak on the matter any further… _

Kolivan rubbed his eyes.

It was for the best that neither Antok or Regris were present. They had both wanted to accompany Kolivan throughout the meeting. In Regris’s case, likely with the idea of getting a chance to step on someone's toes. Antok, on the other hand, had made the suggestion out of a misplaced sense of concern. Kolivan could take care of himself when it came to Zarkon, and he had said as much. 

He hadn’t said why he hadn’t wanted them, or Keith, present at the meeting. However, he could tell from their expressions that they had made a guess. 

It had been well over twenty years since he had left Daibazaal. Since then he had only seen Zarkon when he visited Earth in his official capacity as a paladin. Every interaction had been quick, business-like, and to the point. If you left out all the times Kolivan had had to correct all of Zarkon’s presumptions about the Earth Galra and all the arguing Zarkon had done in return.

Kolivan knew what Zarkon’s attitude towards half galra had always been, and his behavior towards Keith over the years hadn’t given him the impression that that attitude had changed. Zarkon would always complain about Keith’s apparent lack of discipline and respect. Kolivan may acknowledge that in his rougher periods growing up Keith certainly had had trouble with both, but he suspected that Zarkon was singling Keith out for criticism because of his status as a half breed. Just as he had always done in the past without thinking.

However,  _ this _ half breed was a citizen of Earth as well as a new paladin of Voltron. Zarkon would respect him. If he didn’t, then Kolivan would ensure he learned.

A light rapping on his office door told him it was time.

Kolivan took a calming breath, “Come in.”

Iverson opened the door and let Zarkon and only  _ two  _ other galra in. Kolivan had to admit that he hadn’t that kind of power move from his former associate. He wasn’t certain if some kind of message was being sent, or if Zarkon simply couldnt get his hands on a third Commander during Blazar. Either way, it certainly upped Kolivan’s chances if things got ugly.

He didn’t bother with a typical welcome. Instead he just nodded at his guests. “Emperor Zarkon.”

“Kolivan.” 

They stared each other down. Kolivan took the opportunity to inspect the scar over Zarkon’s right eye. He had noted it some time ago, but he couldn’t help but notice the way his old friend's eye seemed to twitch more than it used to.

A part of him wanted to ask about it. Discussing scars was a common topic for small talk amongst their people. Even Earth Galra would still recount the stories around their scars, no matter how mundane or obscure. He suppressed the urge. This wasn’t the time for it.

“You are free to leave, Iverson.” Kolivan said not taking his eyes off Zarkon.

Iverson didn’t give a reply but by the sound of retreating footsteps from the hall he had certainly heard him.

Kolivan eyed the two who were with him and wondered which of them was his son. Neither of them bore an incredible likeness to Zarkon, but given that Kolivan had never seen the mother, it was hard to tell. He didn’t dare ask directly. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let Zarkon dominate the topic like that. A little bit of conversation and he would be able to pick out the Prince soon enough.

“Take a seat, I insist.” Kolivan said.

The battle began.

* * *

Lance gave a sigh as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know there are like five things I’d like to be doing right now.” He cast a pout at Pidge. “Sneaking into a hangar isn’t one of them.”

“We’re not sneaking in,” Pidge corrected. “As paladins in training we technically have clearance.”

“It also helped that we were smart and waited for Zarkon’s group to leave,” Hunk replied as he raised an eyebrow to Lance. “Besides, that’s rich considering I got discovered to be the yellow paladins thanks to you wanting to sneak in.”

“Hey, that was different,” Lance argued as he waved a finger. “That was me trying to be a good friend to get my mechanic loving bro so you could see some of the actual voltron lions.” He tossed his hands in the air. “But who cares about seeing a Galra ship?”

“Because I’ve never gotten to see one up close before,” Pidge said as she brought out her notebook. “They’re known to have this special armor that is rarely found on other ships.”

“Not to mention their designs are pretty interesting from what I’ve seen online,” Hunk added. “We’re just taking a little peek and that’s all.”

Lance rolled his eyes. He didn’t really care about spaceship design, but considering he had nothing else to do while Shiro had his surgery he might as well keep Hunk and Pidge out of trouble

Well, there was annoying Keith but he knew better than to be a jerk today.

“Hey, there it is,” Pidge said as she pointed outside the hangar at the runway.

Lance looked where she pointed and gave a low whistle at the massive ship. Okay, it was kind of neat.

Hunk suddenly took out a sketchbook and started doodling.

“What are you doing?” Lance asked.

“Not taking the risk of getting into trouble for taking photos,” Hunk said as he stuck out his tongue in concentration. “But assured a few sketches of the thing would be cool.”

“Oh good idea,” Pidge said as she looked over his shoulder. “Make sure you get the cannons in the front there.”

Something moved in Lance’s peripheral vision. He turned, but saw no one. He frowned as he tapped Hunk on the shoulder. “You going to be super long there buddy?”

“Hey, you can’t rush art,” Hunk said as he held out his pencil. “Man, Pidge how big do you figure that engine to be.”

“I know, right?” Pidge agreed in an excited tone.

Lance tuned them out as he glanced around. He could have sworn he’d heard some light footsteps.

“Guys, I think there’s someone here,” Lance said carefully, continuing to glance behind him..

Hunk scoffed. “What are you talking about? There’s no one-ACK!”

Lance jumped, raising his arms for attack. Hunk and Pidge both stumbled backward as a slim alien with a tail wearing a long dress suddenly stood in front of them.

“W-w-where did you come?” Pidge stammered.

The alien was quiet as they raised their head in sync with the strange blue cat that sat on their shoulder. The scarf wrapped around their head slipped enough for Lance to realize there weren’t any eyes where they were supposed to be.

“Uh...hey?” Lance greeted as he quickly slid in front of Pidge and Hunk. “Sorry, for disturbing you. We just wanted to take a quick look at the ship.”

The alien said nothing, but started to make movements with their fingers.

Hunk blinked. “Um..you okay?”

The alien paused, slumped their shoulders and dropped their hands.

Pidge adjusted her glasses. “I think they’re trying to talk in a type of sign language but I’m not familiar with the style.”

Lance frowned as he looked at the alien. “Can you see us?”

The alien nodded their head.

Lance frowned. He didn’t get how they could see without eyes, but hey he wasn’t going to pry. “But you can hear us?”

The alien nodded.

“Okay,” Lance said as his brain tried to piece together who the strange looking person could be. “Did you come with Zarkon’s group?”

Again the alien nodded.

Hunk raised an eyebrow as he climbed to his feet. “Wait, then why were you left here in the hangar. Shouldn’t you be with the other diplomats?” He grabbed his chin and then pointed. “Also, cute cat.”

The cat gave a light growl as the alien tried to sign something but then gave up and gave a shrug.

“You’re not a diplomat,” Lance reasoned.

So, then why would Zarkon keep them here? Unless it was to keep them safe. But the only person Lance could think of that Zarkon would wanna do that for was...OOOH!

He snapped his fingers. “You must be Lotor!”

Silence fell over the group. Hunk blinked, the cat meowed, the alien tilted their head as Pidge raised her eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Well, who else could it be,” Lancer reasoned as he pointed at the stranger. “Clearly, Zarkon left Lotor here.” He frowned. “Why he did that we’ll never know.”

The alien’s fingers moved swiftly in a complex series of signals, no doubt trying to assure Lance he was indeed correct and that they were, in fact, Lotor.

“This is perfect,” Lance said as he approached ‘Lotor’ and took a quick bow. “I’m Lance, that’s Pidge and that’s Hunk we’re the new paladins of Voltron.”

“Um..paladins in training,” Hunk said with raised hands. “I’m not getting in trouble for misrepresenting ourselves here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance said as he waved the cautionary comment off and kept his gaze on ‘Lotor’. “Anyway, instead of being stuck inside a boring hangar why don’t we show you around. First time you’re on Earth right?”

The alien’s fingers paused as they seemed to consider Lance’s offer.

“Uh, should we be doing this?” Pidge asked as she crossed her arms. 

“Pidge is right,” Hunk said as he narrowed his eyes. “We might need permission for this kind of—”

“Naw it’s fine,” Lance said smugly. “I got permission from Blaytz before he left. It’ll be fine.”

Hunk still looked uncertain as he exchanged a glance with Pidge. 

“Um… well I guess if Blaytz said it’s okay, but let’s not go wandering out of the garrison.”

“Yeah, no leaving the compound.” Pidge agreed, “We stick strictly to the inside of the base.”

“Fair,” Lance said as he looked back at the alien. “What do you say Lotor? Want to come with us?”

The cat tilted his head as the alien lightly patted it and gave a nod.

“Great,” Lance declared, “let’s—”

“Wait, quick question,” Pidge said as she pointed to the dress. “Boy, girl or other? One finger for boy, two for girl, and none for other.”

‘Lotor’ held up two fingers.

“Girl, huh?” Lance said as he whipped out a smile and offered an arm. “Well, allow me to escort you Princess.”

Princess Lotor took the arm, her tail excitedly twitched as they began to walk out of the hangar together.

“I got a bad feeling about this,” Hunk muttered as he unwillingly followed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for the new chapter. In return have a nice long update dense with content XD

“I’m not sure this is a great idea.” Zethrid muttered.

“Oh what? You chickening out?” Ezor asked playfully.

The larger woman growled in slight indignation. “Of course not! Just, we don’t have any money. How’re we even supposed to  _ get  _ to Earth?”

“Same way we got to that swap moon. Hitch a ride.” 

“With who?”

They were wandering the dirt runways outside the settlement. Wide open barren land stretched out far and was cluttered with ships of varying size and quality. Most were rusted up banged garbage heaps that still somehow managed to survive space travel, but there were a few of the nicer models around. Likely belonging to some of the more successful gangs, treasure and bounty hunters, and crime lords. 

Ezor ignored the ships and walked purposely forward with Zethrid following behind, “Someone who owes me money.”

“If they owe you money, why don’t you just collect?”

Ezor snorted, “You can’t get water from a stone Zethrid. If we’re broke, he's probably scraping up the muck and snacking on it.”

“But he’s got a ship?”

“No,” Ezor stopped, glanced around, and then focused on a small dilapidated hovel just off the main landing stretch. She made for it, “but he does have information.”

The hovel's sorry excuse for a tarp door was swept aside unveiling an old unilu, with only three arms, splitting the attention between his hands with an old pile of metal tiles that was clearly some kind of game, and clearing out his nose. He stopped abruptly when Ezor stepped through, and sat up. 

"Hey there." Ezor said, giving the old man a toothy grin. 

"Now look here-" he said, reaching for a rusty saber in a way that he seemed to think was inconspicuous. He stopped when Zethrid came through the flap with a clenched fist raised and gave him a merciful glare of warning. Suddenly it seemed he'd never even seen the sword before as he carefully placed all three of his hands on the table. 

Zethrid was passably impressed at this show of intelligent self preservation. Besides, Ezor was more amused by the situation than anything so chances were there hadn't been any true danger. She lowered the fist, but made sure not to relax it completely. No telling which direction this could go. 

"No worries What's-your-face, I'm not here to collect. Not like I would collect much if I was, " Ezor said with a disdainful sniff as she looked about her, "but I could  _ forget _ your little debt. If you do me and my friend here just a little itty bitty favor."

The unilu hesitated. He seemed to be weighing options. Buying time, he said, "I have a name you know."

"Not one I care to remember."

The old man grunted in dissatisfaction but said nothing immediately. 

"All of the debt?" he finally asked. 

"Is that a yes?" 

"No. Not yet anyway. What is that favor you want?" 

“We need passage. The quickest route possible to planet Earth.”

“Earth? But that’s lightyears away!”

“Yeah it is. Oh, also forgot to mention. We need to get there in under three days.”

“THREE DAYS?!” The unilu spluttered, “Most common traffic to that planet takes months!”

“Common traffic sure,” Ezor snapped, having no patience for hestarics. “But you don't run business in common traffic do you?”

The unilu stared at her blankly.

She groaned. Her tendril twitched with the temptation to smack this old man around until he gave them the information they wanted. 

“I mean the portal transports.”

“Ah,” the old man clicked his tongue. Suddenly his mood seemed to change and become business like. “There may be one Altean ship heading to Earth this week. And it may have portal technology.”

“Can you get us on board?”

He drummed his fingers on the metal table looking thoughtful, “Maybe. Alteans aren’t as dangerous as the galra. They don’t kill you on sight for one. That being said, being kept in stasis until you can be brought in front of a court ain’t much better. Why do you wanna go there anyway? You following after the rest of the half breeds who’ve infested the place?”

The old unilu realized his mistake when Zethrids fist wrapped itself around his throat and yanked him forward until he was mere centimeters from her face, “You care to repeat that?”

He glanced at Ezor, hoping for aid, but from the way she was checking out her nails he knew there would be no help from that direction.

“S-Slip of the tongue!” He rasped, terrifyingly aware of the masterfully increasing pressure, “I-I meant nothing by it! Honest!”

“You gonna get us to Earth?” Zethrid asked.

“Yes, yes! For the love of my uncle’s swap shop, YES!”

She dropped him down on the table, knocking the carefully placed tiles around.

Gasping for air, the unilu carefully nursed his throat. He was safe, for now.

“I can get you on the ship, but after that it's up to you to not get caught.” He wheezed. “Stowaways are stowaways to every race out here.”

“Let us worry about that.” Ezor said coldly.

He repressed a growl of indignation. With this he could get rid of his debt to this crazy hybrid with the added benefit of getting her and her friend out of hair. Potentially permanently.

“You two aint looking to stir up trouble right?” he asked carefully. “Cause I won’t be associated with anyone making enemies of the Alliance.”

“What's it to you?” Zethrid asked, carefully cracking her knuckles.

“Nobody who's made enemies with the Alliance, or more specifically the paladins, has ever walked away unscathed. I ain't getting caught up in that mess.”

“That group of blue blood goodie-goodies?” Ezor laughed. “Ohhh were soooo scared.”

“You lot are too green to know anything about it.” The old alien sniffed, "You ladies ever heard of Captain Barzok?" Not giving them a chance to reply he went on, "Was a big up and comer not long ago. He had it all; power, brains, charisma, ambition, and a big old fleet to back it all up. Most of the blue bloods just called him a pirate, but old folks like me knew what he was about. Captain Barzok meant to become the next big warlord, like there'd been during the old wars. He'd already started taking over small settlements. Most of em swap moons and waylay stations filled with the muck of the universe, but it was more than a start."

As he talked, the alien set his hands to stacking the tiles in an absent minded fashion. 

"He had hundreds under his command. Thousands some said. He'd send ‘em out prowling on strategic trade routes where'd they launch an attack, rob ‘em blind, and pick up any worthy lookin recruits before taking off." 

Zethrid snorted, "They recruited people they defeated?" 

The old alien paused and stared at the tiles in discomfort. 

"Well recruit ain't the best term. They weren't exactly asking nicely if you take my meaning. More like a, uh, conscription you might say."

"He kidnapped people?" Ezor deadpanned. 

The old man ignored her, "Lotsa folks did it back then, mind. Was practically common practice when I was a boy. But Barzok took it into an…uncomfortable direction."

Suddenly he waved his arm, "But we're straying from the point. Important thing is, Barzok wanted to be a major player. He was slowly gathering the big guns and numbers to make it so. Thing is, he started brushing up with the Alliance a lot. At first it was just small patrols and the like, but eventually they started catching wind of ‘em. So the galra started setting these escorts along trade routes through their territory. Not lightly armored stuff neither, they were the heavily armored stuff with guns that'll dust any small transport ship. Bad news for Barzok since most of the real lucrative traders went that way. Word gets a little fuzzy at this point. Barzok supposedly tried something clever to get back at the Alliance. Resulting in them taking action and—" In a moment of sudden inspiration, he swept his hand and toppled the piled up tiles, “—wiped ‘em out.”

“Oh wow so interesting,” Ezor groaned, “Does any of this have anything to do with getting us to Earth?”

“Shut up and it might. If you dont wanna get arrested when you get there,” the old man scolded. “Like I said, Barzok and his whole crew got wiped but I’ve heard from people who know that it wasn’t a typical sting operation. More than a few folks say the oh-so-mighty-and-noble Zarkon had a secret deal going with Barzok and met him privately on Lluna N6X and that the captain double crossed him. Immediately after, every spare ship and soldier in the galran armada was sent out to hunt down every ship in the pirates fleet until they were decimated. Ever since then Zarkon’s come down hard on every pirate that dares operate in his territory.”

“Uh huh, and these ‘people who know’ don't happen to have names?”

The old man snorted, “I am giving you a warning.  _ Barzok’s  _ a warning. He didn’t keep his head down, stepped on Zarkons toes, and the Emperor showed his true colors and eliminated him. So if yer going to Earth keep yer head low. They say Emperor Zarkon's having a little visit right about now. Should be gone by the time you arrive, but still, better to be safe. Man isn't known for his leniency." 

“Why would you care so much about what happens to us?” Zethrid asked suspiciously.

“Because if he caught you and questioned you, you’d squeal. I don't need someone as big as him after me. Especially since I won’t be able to run a racket around here much longer.”

“Why’s that?” Ezor asked.

“Why do you think?” The alien hissed. He nodded towards the settlement, “That new group of pirates has been snatching up all the jobs. Between you and me, I wouldn’t be surprised if these fools were aiming for the same thing Barzok was, and I don’t wanna be around when they launch their first strike.”

* * *

As far as first impressions went Sendak could not say he was very impressed with his Emperor’s  _ former  _ star commander. From the way so many had waxed nostalgic about how talented he had been and what a loss his departure was for the Empire he'd expected someone more… menacing. Not this greying middle aged desk jockey.

It was difficult to envision that this Kolivan had at one time been Zarkon’s up and coming right hand man. At least that's what many of his senior contemporaries in the fleet had said. Now they used that term to refer to Sendak.

Not that Sendak had ever called himself Zarkon’s right hand man. For one, his rank didn’t quite reflect that position. He was still far from being one of the Emperor’s advisors or, dare he even hope, a General. For another, Zarkon had never outright described him as such and so Sendak dared not run around like that fool Morvok, giving himself airs over the slightest showing of favor. Still if he was Zarkon’s right hand (which he technically wasn’t) he was, er,  _ would  _ be a far better choice than this  _ deserter _ .

They had already been speaking for some time. Both focused entirely on professional matters. Earthen trade, security detail, the rise in new immigrants from Daibazaal, etc.

Finally Kolivan said, “Our ability to handle the new workload of processing the new arrivals will be hampered by the festivities, but it will be finished before the month is out.”

Zarkon’s brow creased, “Festivities?”

“You are aware we carry on the traditions of Blazar?” Kolivan asked.

“I have certainly heard as such.” Zarkon answered cautiously.

Sendak had heard as much as well. Not that he understood it all. Why did they continue celebrating something so intricately tied to the Empire's history when they were doing all they could to cut ties with said Empire? The hypocrisy of the situation on Earth caused unease in his heart. Only because Zarkon once held this man in high regard does he reserve full judgement.

“Naturally things are quite different here than on Daibazaal. For one Earth’s solar calendar is slightly off from Daibazaal’s, but I like to think things have lined up,” Kolivan explained. “On Earth it is now the third day of Blazar.”

“When I left it was on Daibazaal as well.”

Now that things had fallen into a rhythm (If a tense one) Sendak allowed himself to tentatively relax, sensing Throk doing the same at his side. He remained alert on Zarkon and Kolivan’s tones, however, keeping his ears trained for any hint of malice and allowed his eyes to wander the room

Compared to the private rooms for Commanders on both Daibazaal and on their respective flagships this one was noticeably smaller. Not so small that four, fully grown, galra could stand inside and feel cramped but small enough to not be luxurious. 

Sendak noticed a display case of weapons behind Kolivan’s desk. From the look of them they were clearly of Galran make but the Commander couldn’t help but notice that they were distinctly different from all the weapons available back at the Palace. He sniffed, regardless there were only a scant few of them compared to the horde of weaponry Daibazaal had to offer. Not that that was surprising.

He was quickly snapped out of his thoughts by Zarkons sudden rise in tone.

“You are holding a tournament?”

“Yes,” Kolivan replied clearly straining his patience, “It is a part of the holiday.”

“How exactly do you hold an official ceremony?” Zarkon asked pointedly. “I have never been in attendance.”

It was a relevant question. Traditionally the Emperor or a member of his family had to be present for the tournament in order to make rulings about unsure outcomes and to officially declare the winner. On Earth they had no access to any members of the royal family.

“We have our own rules, and convene to clear up any confusion when it arises,” Kolivan explained. “We don’t need an emperor for that.”

Sendak glared at him. He could see how they would need to make changes to make up for the lack of any members of royalty but to more or less call Emperor Zarkon unessential to his face was unforgivably insulting.

Regardless, Zarkon seemed inclined to make the concession.

“I can see how that may be necessary,” he admitted, “When is this tournament to be?”

“The end of the week.” Kolivan explained, “It tends to be more convenient. Everyone gets excited throughout the week, and the tournaments a good chance for them to let out the last of their pent up energy.”

“I know that all too well. I have heard about the,” Zarkon paused distastefully, “grudge matches?”

“It is more like glorified sparring to settle disputes. Do not tell me you forgot how things were settled amongst the ranks when we were younger?”

The Emperor stiffened at this sudden reference to the pair's shared history and merely said, “That was in the barracks. Hardly a behavior that is decent to force on the public.”

Kolivan almost laughed. “The public, as you call them, began it themselves. Even a few humans got involved. We just figured having an official match, in a ring, with a set of rules would make it neater and prevent fights from breaking out in inappropriate areas.”

Sendak watched as Zarkon jutted his chin forward but said nothing. It was clearly something the Emperor would have done himself, he knew, but the man was hardly going to admit the fact to Kolivan.

“I am surprised you are so accepting of the changes,” Kolivan said, for the first time, in genuine earnest. “I had expected you to protest the many changes the Galra of Earth have made to accomodate the holiday to this planet.”

Zarkon forced a rather sardonic grin. “I can hardly complain when my people carry out their own traditions. Blazar is not a holiday that is so easily removed from its roots. I hope you realize that.”

Kolivan noticeably narrowed his eyes at ‘my people’ but made no comment. His silence spurred Zarkon on.

“I presume the tournament itself has not changed much? Contestants facing each other, one on one, and only one will walk away as the victor. Eventually the mightiest and most skilled warriors rising through the rounds until one proud champion remains.” The Emperor practically sang the praises. “I admit to being curious about those who have won the tournaments in years past. They must be highly respected, and given great praise.”

“For the most part,” Kolivan was distinctly less enthused, “we don’t exactly have a lot of warriors here, Zarkon. A few of the young ones have been learning, and of course we train all in the ways of self defense. However most of the Galra here would not describe themselves as ‘warriors’ in any sense.” He then added, “Besides, it is really only a handful of us who consistently enter. Most others tend to participate for the prize money.”

The tone of the room, which had relaxed somewhat, suddenly turned rigid.

“Prize money?”

“Oh, yes. We figured a prize would make things more exciting so we—”

“Prize money?!” Zarkon repeated more loudly.

Kolivan looked at him with annoyance, “Yes.”

“You can not  _ do  _ that!” Zarkon finally snapped both of his hands slamming on the desk. Sendak swore he heard the wood splinter slightly. “The Blazar Tournament is about self improvement and honoring the hard fought achievements of warriors. You have transformed one of our most sacred traditions into a… a…  _ a sideshow exhibit _ !” 

Kolivan scoffed. “You are being overdramatic.”

“I am not!” Zarkon bellowed.

“Well what precisely are we supposed to do?!” Kolivan demanded, “Earth doesn't  _ have  _ royalty or a caste system. So they can hardly be rewarded with a title or some promotion.”

“The achievement should be enough!” Zarkon barked, “This way it's just prize fighting with a holiday attached!”

“That is merely your opinion.” The former Commanders voice had now grown icily cold. “I realize it has likely never occured to you before, but most of our people would find a lot more value in a sudden financial windfall than an empty title.”

“I think I know what  _ my  _ people hold value in!” Zarkon yelled angrily. 

Sendak and Throk flinched, their ears twitching in irritation at the sound. While under the Emperor’s employ both of them had learned to be wary of Zarkon’s famous temper once someone had been foolish enough to incur it. Sendak had learned to fear that wrath much the same way a child would fear his admonishing father. Not that it had often been directed his way. There had been times, especially in his younger days, but years of experience had proven such instances had been invaluable to Sendak’s growth into a true Galra warrior.

Contrary to what many outside of the inner court tended to assume, Emperor Zarkon’s famous temper was not particularly violent. Through all the years he had served the royal family, Sendak had never seen him attack anyone who was not clearly aggressive and even then he almost never used excessive violence. He certainly did not suffer fools gladly, and those who thought they could pull one over on the man or show blatant disrespect in his court quickly learned the consequences of their folly. 

So it was with a great deal of awe that both Commanders watched as the Earth Galran representative looked on with cold, unflinching, eyes. Beyond a slight involuntary twitch of his ear in response to the volume, Kolivan didn’t so much as lean back. 

Instead he met Zarkon’s shout with a powerful one of his own, “You have no right to determine what they value! Our people are not your possessions Zarkon. They can change their trajectory of their own free will -hether you give your ascent or not!”

He leaned towards Zarkon as he shouted, not backing away, instead advancing forward until their two faces were close enough to hold a long fiery glare. 

Sendak’s fingers itched. He now regretted acquiescing to Prince Lotor’s command that all their weapons be left behind. Ancients knew he had only accepted because Zarkon had ordered it.

Still, he was skilled in unarmed combat. If a fight was to break out, Sendak would not hesitate to support his Emperor. Assuming Kolivan was foolish enough to start one.

Thankfully, Sendak’s prognostication proved unfounded.

Both men failed to escalate and stepped away from each other.

“You have not changed,” Kolivan said bitterly.

“Nor have you,” Zarkon replied, matching the other’s bitterness. “From your attitude I can see that you have not dropped your disrespect for the ways of our forefathers.”

“From  _ your  _ attitude I can see your leadership has kept Daibazaal chained to the past. Where it will doubtless remain and rot.”

Sendak growled. The man had gone too far now. The only thing that kept him from speaking out now were his years of disciplined training. Only just barely.

“I have other matters to attend to with the Garrison Leadership, so I will take my leave of you. However, make no mistake, this discussion is not over,” Zarkon said aggressively as he turned away.

Kolivan didn’t stop them from leaving.

Sendak stewed as he obediently left the room and followed his Emperor. Trying to not let his discontent show, he glared at the heels of Zarkon’s boots. He could feel Throk’s analyzing eyes on him.

Zarkon came to a stop, Sendak and Throk halting abruptly behind him. He didn’t say anything right away. Clearly still reeling in the last dregs of his anger. Finally he spoke, “Commander Throk, Commander Sendak.”

Both of the men stood at attention, saluting.

“You are, for the moment, free to return to the ship or wander the facility,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Are you certain sire?” Throk asked.

Zarkon’s eyes flashed at him questioningly.

The Commander immediately bowed, “I merely ask out of concern, my lord.” Throk explained with a slight shake to his voice. “Considering the tone of that previous meeting—”

“I have nothing to fear here,” Zarkon snapped. “Or have you forgotten how often I have come here alone?”

“I have not sire,” Throk answered.“I apologize, My Lord. I meant no offense.”

Zarkon softened, “Forgive my tone, Commander. It was uncalled for. Your concern is well meant but largely misplaced. I now go only to meet with this bases leaders. In my absence I ask only one thing of you two.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Avoid any conflict with the Galra here. I do not care how they antagonize you, do not, under any circumstances, retaliate. Once Prince Lotor’s little project is over, and our business with the Garrison is done, we will make an immediate return to Daibazaal. Is that understood?”

“It will be done Sire,” Throk bowed once more, lowering his head enough so that Zarkon could not see his sharp grin.

They parted.

After a few moments of walking, Throk spoke, “What an insulting man that Kolivan is.” 

Sendak did not answer.

“He had no right to speak to the Emperor the way that he did.”

Sendak clenched his fist.

“Do you not agree, Commander?”

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Sendak spat, “He is an insolate cur.”

Sendak didn’t see the way Throk’s brow rose in satisfaction.

“You seem upset Sendak.”

“Of course I am, who wouldn’t be?!” Sendak hit the wall in rage as they passed, ignoring the obvious damage. Throk glanced at the hole that was left behind as his smile broadened. “That son of a guzmo had no right to speak to Emperor Zarkon as he did. How dare he claim His Majesty's leadership was guiding our planet anywhere but a bright and fulfilling future! To think that such a man once held our same position as well as the Emperor;s trust.”

“Yes, it is infuriating,” Throk said quietly. “Someone ought to teach him a lesson.”

Sendak peered at Throk suspiciously, “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing serious,” he said with a wave. “I was just considering… but, no. I fear I would likely be unable to defeat such a man as him.”

Sendak stopped dead. “Defeat? You mean to challenge him?”

“Oh no no,” Throk insisted. “I was merely thinking aloud. I am not the Champion that you are Sendak. If I were, I would challenge Kolivan to a match in order to restore our Emperor’s honor!” He sighed, “However, I have a decent measure of my own abilities. So I shall not entertain the falsehood that I could ever defeat a man who was at one time equal to the mighty Zarkon.”

“Yes,” Sendak replied slowly, “The Emperor also instructed that we not allow ourselves to be riled up.”

Throk narrowed his eyes cunningly, “Perhaps. But I am certain he would make an exception here. After all, it is his and all of Daibazaals honor at stake.”

Throk paused as he watched Sendak’s brow crease in thought.

“Not that I could ever win, of course,” he sighed dramatically. “Ah, well. I suppose since we are here, we may as well take a look at the facilities. Not that I expect to see much. This planet is proving to be even less of a destination that I initially thought.”

“You go on ahead,” Sendak said, turning around.

“Oh, where are you going, Commander?”

Sendak didn’t reply.

Throk watched him until he was out of sight. At which point, he grinned with a malicious sense of triumph...

Kolivan’s office was not difficult to relocate. Despite all the halls seeming alike, and all the signs being in some strange language he couldn’t understand, Sendak easily retraced his steps until he found the door and pounded on it.

There was a startled clatter from within. A pause. Then a response, “Enter.”

Sendak sauntered in. 

Kolivan was standing behind his desk. One hand on the display case of weapons, as though he had only just closed it. He narrowed his eyes at the Commander as he came up to the desk and leaned on it. 

“I will give you one chance to apologize,” the Commander growled.

Sendak could see the hand on the case tense. It remained that way for a moment. The weapons inside were well within reach. Old instincts were rearing their heads.

However the old pencil pusher seemed to overcome the old habits and removed his hand from the case, and fully faced Sendak.

“That is not how you begin a conversation,” he scolded.

Sendak flushed in embarrassment and growled, “Do not play the fool!”

“It is not I playing the fool,” Kolivans voice was still scolding as his eyes scanned Sendak, sizing him up. “I will give you the chance to begin again.”

Sendak ground his teeth. The tone reminded him of one of his earliest instructors when he caught him speaking out of turn; gray old galra who had been one of the dayaks who watched over him and the other orphans left parentless by the many wars their people waged.

It had been he who had pushed Sendak towards entering military service. Something about putting his size and strength to better use than to pin his peers to the floor after every argument. In hindsight. Sendak owed much to the man.

If he had not followed his advice, however unwillingly, he would never have met Emperor Zarkon.

“You will retract the insult you leveled at Emperor Zarkon.” Sendak barked.

Kolivan tilted his head in thought as his brow creased in contemplation. “And what insult would that be?”

“Do not be coy with me! How dare you imply that my- I mean, that our lord's leadership has done anything but allow Daibazaal to flourish! Your detachment with our homeworld is clear from your words and your disrespect,” Sendak vented, barely noticing the way Kolivan carefully listened to his words, as he finished, “The Emperor has been like a father to me, and I will not have him disrespected. Regardless of what previous relations with him you may have had.”

A light came into Kolivans eye, and he looked at Sendak with a new expression, “What is your name Commander?”

“I am Commander Sendak. My lord Zarkon has trained me himself, and I have become one of his most trusted soldiers,” Sendak then added bitterly, “A position of high honor that you threw away, as I understand it.”

“Do not speak unwisely, Commander.” Kolivan’s voice had grown colder. “I can already surmise that your lord did not send you here. Despite what you say, I still retain enough of an understanding of Zarkon to know that he would not send one of his men in his stead to express his own displeasure. I recommend that you turn back. Regardless of what you say, I am still a Galran warrior with honor to match. If you utter the words I think you wish to, I will be forced to accept. And my long friendship with Zarkon will not make me go easy on you.”

Sendak bared his teeth at the man.

This was almost more insulting than what had been said before.

“Do not patronize me,” Sendak said, “I challenge you former Commander Kolivan to a battle in defense of the honor of my Emperor.”

Kolivan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Letting out a long sigh as he shook his head, almost in disappointment and muttered quietly enough for Sendak not to hear, “Such an irresponsible Prince.”

After a moment, he looked up into Sendak’s eyes and said, more loudly, “I accept your challenge.”

* * *

Shiro was groggy. He almost forgot he was in the operating room until Ulaz touched his shoulder.

“How are you feeling, Shiro?” he asked.

“Mmmm...good,” Shiro replied as he tried to shake off the medicated sleep. “I feel good.”

Ulaz nodded before glancing over to Lotor. “I still feel we should give him a full dose of the sedative.”

Shiro turned his head. His shoulder had been encased in a metal covering. He swallowed. That meant the hard part was next.

“I understand, and I wish we could,” Lotor said as he was making adjustments on the arm. “Unfortunately, while Shiro didn’t need to be conscious to attach the base he does for the rest of the arm.” He adjusted his mask as he stood up. “We have to know if he is able to sense his arm right away. If we wait for him to fully awaken only to discover that he can not move it that means we have to take another surgery to see if we can fix the problem. It would be more efficient to eliminate any problems now.”

Ulaz’s eyes narrow. “Still, I believe-”

“It’s okay,” Shiro said as he touched Ulaz’s arm. “I know it’s going to hurt,” Lotor had been very clear on that, “but I rather get this over with in one go.”

Ulaz sighed as he patted Shiro’s shoulder. “Alright, but if the pain is unbearable you must promise to tell us and we’ll stop.”

Shiro nodded.

Lotor shut the lid on the arm and gestured to Ulaz. “I will need your assistance in lifting it, but please be careful. The settings will be delicate until the arm is connected to Shiro’s biochemistry.”

Ulaz complied and helped Lotor lift the arm.

Shiro breathed deeply to calm his nerves as the arm was set next to him on the table. Ulaz moved to the other side of the table and checked the monitor.

“All his vitals are stable,” Ulaz declared.

“Keep a close eye on that,” Lotor instructed and touched Shiro’s shoulder. “Brace yourself. I can’t predict what pain you will experience but it will not be pleasant. I am going to have to strap your legs and arm to the table to ensure you don’t injure yourself.”

Shiro felt like he heard that before but he couldn’t recall where. “Do it.”

Lotor took the straps and tightly wrapped them around Shiro. “Can you move them?”

Shiro grunted as he tried to wiggle free. “No.”

“Excellent,” Lotor stated and pressed a button on the arm. “Here we go gentleman.”

Shiro heard a whirl as Lotor shoved the arm into place. 

Shiro felt like he was struck by lightning. It rippled through his body. His muscles were on fire. If not for the straps, Shiro’s instincts would have taken over and he would have ripped the arm out to stop the assault. He wanted to scream but he clamped his mouth shut and suppressed a whimper.

Then the pain faded. With each second, the fire slowly died out. Once it was gone, Shiro gasped for air as if he had been rescued for drowning.

He stared at the ceiling until a hand touched his forehead.

“Shiro, are you alright?” Ulaz asked.

Shiro swallowed another gulp of air before he gave a tired smile. “Never better.”

“Can you move the arm?” Lotor asked.

Ulaz glared. “Give him a moment. He-”

“We need to know if adjustments must be made now so we don’t have to repeat this process later,” Lotor snapped back.

He locked his gaze upon Shiro. “Can you move the arm?”

Shiro’s eyes hardened as he glanced down at the cybernetic arm. He felt it there, but did that-

A robotic finger twitched.

Shiro’s eyes widened. It was stiff, but Shiro slowly curled his fingers into a fist. No one said a word as he lifted the arm up in the air and rotated it side to side.

“It...It works,” Shiro muttered in disbelief. “I can move it.”

Lotor’s eyes sparked with curiosity. “Wiggle your fingers.”

Shiro did so and frowned. “It’s a bit stiff.”

“We may need a minor adjustment,” Lotor said as he gently pushed the arm back down. “However, I can do that with you as is. We shouldn’t need to reattach it.”

“That’s a relief,” he muttered.

Ulaz patted his shoulder. “You did amazing. I’m stunned you didn’t scream.”

Shiro gave a slight chuckle. “It wasn’t so bad.” 

Lotor clicked his tongue as he poked at the arm. “Being able to tolerate all of that pain and say it ‘wasn’t so bad’ you are indeed a Black Paladin.”

Shiro wasn’t certain if Lotor was smiling behind his mask or not.

* * *

Narti had to admit she felt a little bit guilty. Lotor and Zarkon had both instructed her to stay in the hangar. If they learned she had left with a group of strangers neither would be happy, especially Lotor. He had a habit of being overprotective at times. He would likely be angry with the young paladins for not confirming her identity before ‘whisking her away’, which wasn’t fair to the humans that were being so kind to her.

Yet, when Narti saw the chance to escape the hangar and go with them to explore the base she couldn’t resist. She had been bored out of her mind, and not to mention a bit angry at both the members of royalty. For anicent’s sake, she wasn’t helpless. She was perfectly capable of defending herself, thank you very much.

Kova gave a comforting purr in her ear. Narti took a breath as she patted his head to calm herself. She knew it wasn’t that simple, but she was hardly a defenseless maiden. Still, Narti knew it wasn’t fair to the humans if Lotor lectured them for her choice. Hopefully, she would be able to sneak back into the hangar before anyone was the wiser. 

“So, this is the cafeteria,” Lance declared as they entered the room.

Kova turned his head for Narti to see.

It was much brighter than Narti would see when she escorted Lotor to the Galran military bases. There were a few humans sitting at tables eating, but not many. 

“Lunch was a few hours ago, so it’s not as busy now,” Lance said as Kova turned his head towards him. 

“Not that the food here is that great,” Pidge muttered from behind.

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” Hunk said and then frowned. “Okay, their pasta does get overcooked and their chilli really needs more kick-”

Lance poked his side. “Dude, can we not have the cooking rant today.”

Hunk coughed. “Right, sorry,” he muttered and pointed to a pair of machines in the far corner. “Speaking of which, I’m grabbing a quick snack. Anyone want anything?”

“I’m good,” Pidge and Lance said in unison.

Narti raised her hand.

Hunk frowned and then snapped his finger. “You want something, Lotor?”

Narti nodded.

“Give me a second...er tick, Allura told me you guys tend to use the same time measurements,” Hunk said as he pointed to the machine.

Kova watched him as he switched to Narti’s other shoulder and she patted his head.

From behind, she could hear feet being pulled a bit far back, mostly likely so she couldn’t hear, but with her ears it wasn’t far enough.

She could hear Pidge whisper “Are we certain this is ‘Lotor’?” 

Narti’s body became stiff, but pretended not to have heard Pidge whisper.

Lance sighed. “This again? Pidge it has to be. She can clearly understand us and she hasn’t corrected-”

“But don’t you think it’s weird she had been left in the hangar without even a bodyguard?” Pidge whispered back. “I’m not an expert on Galra culture, but I can’t imagine a royal would just be left to wander about on a strange planet without some kind of escort.”

Narti’s tail twitched. She wasn’t wrong. It would have been considered ‘uncouth’ if Lotor had been left on his own when they had first arrived. Granted, Lotor would eventually sneak away for some alone time when no one was watching, but she only knew that from living with Lotor for so many years.

“You’re over thinking things,” Lance whispered. “Besides, why would she pretend to be Lotor? To get a bunch of paladins to show her the Garrison? It’s not like we’re showing off top secrets or anything?”

“That’s true,” Pidge muttered.

Narti tried to hear what else was being said, but Kova meowed as Hunk returned with a small sealed bag in his hands.

“I got some potato chips to start off,” Hunk said as he opened the bag and held it out to Narti. “These are sour cream, want to try one?”

Narti tilted her head. She had heard tales how Earth apparently had some delicious delicacies, but could they be that good?

Gingerly, Narti reached into the bag, picked up a chip and took a bite. She froze as the flavor made her taste buds dance before she happily shoved the whole chip into her mouth.

Hunk grinned satisfied. “Good, huh?”

Narti nodded as she swallowed.

Hunk gave her the bag. “Here you can have these. I’m going to snag another bag from the vending machine.”

Narti gave a grateful nod of her head as she shoved two more chips into her mouth and then offered one to Kova.

“Where should we go after this place?” Hunk asked as he looked to Lance.

“How about the gym, it’s nearby,” Lance replied. 

“Oh yes, I’m sure a royal princess will be thrilled to see our locker rooms,” Pidge muttered dryly. 

Lance shot her a glare. “Do you have any better ideas?”

Pidge gave a sigh. “Honestly, no. Only other place I can think of is the labs but I’m not risking getting in trouble with my dad.” She glanced at Narti. “No offense.”

Narti waved a hand to indicate “None taken.”

“Alright let me grab another bag of chips,” Hunk said but Narti grabbed his shoulder and held up three fingers.

Hunk tilted his head and then slowly seemed to get the meaning. “You want… three bags?”

Narti nodded.

“Uh, okay, sure,” Hunk said with a shrug. “I’ll grab a bag of salt and vinegar too. You might like those.”

Narti nodded as she patted Kova. She had no idea how long she could carry out this charade, but she was at least going to attempt to take back as many treats as she could manage.

* * *

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Adoption was not an uncommon practice amongst the highest ranks of the Galra. Especially with individuals similar to Zarkon.

There were many lords of old clans, or long working Commanders who had dedicated their lives to their work and never got around to propagating their lineage. Every so often a time would come when one would realize they were running out of time.Then, rather than hold themselves to some civil union, they would take their pick of any young orphans who had promise as up and coming warriors and adopt them into their clans as their new heirs. Typically these individuals were in their late teens (at the youngest) and were already members of the military. Handily doing away with any need to deal with diapers, basic education, and all the other nonsense that came with young children.

It was, from a very specific point of view, a very charitable practice. Aging noblemen could die leaving their houses and clans in strong young capable hands, and more than one young orphan would find themselves elevated in station with a new title practically overnight. The fact that a few of said  _ orphans  _ still had a set of living parents in the lower castes was rarely discussed.

Kolivan didn’t know what version of this Zarkon had used to adopt Sendak as his son and heir. A part of him still hoped that it was the former, it being the better option. Although the idea still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

There was something about the idea of the nobility taking their pick of the vulnerable and orphaned and declaring them their children, that angered Kolivan. He thought it was likely the lack of any intention of care that did it. The nobility never picked up the small children who were in the most need of parents. Preferring to wait until they could see if they’d turn out to be  _ worth  _ anything first. It was the sheer convenience of it all that angered him. There was hardly any intention of providing any actual love or care, just a driving sense that certain traditions had to be observed before one died.

Kolivan didn’t like to think of his one time friend being in connection with that kind of thing, but it was hard to deny that Zarkon’s situation matched the action. He recalled him as having been a very dedicated bachelor (romance being an affliction that affected other people), he was the last surviving member of a very old clan, and, if Kolivan’s math was correct, he had to be well into his late fifties by now. Just the sort to pick some advanced impressionable recruit that could carry on the clans name, if not the actual blood line.

And if Zarkon was going to handpick anyone to be his heir, it made sense for it to be someone as superficially similar to himself as possible. Everything from Sendak’s appearance to the way he weighs the dulled practice weapon from the rack in his hands fit that description. The Commander was clearly physically bigger and stronger than his contemporary peers, much like Zarkon had been, and he had a natural talent for combat. That was about as far as Kolivan’s initial observations of Commander Sendak went.

Kolivan could deduce from the way Sendak had behaved that he was the ‘son’ he’d been told would be accompanying Zarkon. He was too old to be related by blood. Sendak seemed to be somewhere in his early thirties at the earliest, and Kolivan had left Daibazaal only around twenty years ago, and the Emperor had been unmarried then. So he wasn’t Zarkon’s son by blood, the math made that clear.

Technically his title should have been Prince Sendak, assuming Zarkon had officially adopted him, but neither had seemed inclined to use it in front of mixed company. That Kolivan couldn’t quite explain. It would have been more in Zarkon’s nature to parade such a person around, shamelessly singing their (and by extension his own) praises. 

Not that Kolivan particularly cared.

Right now he was more worried about this challenge. As much as Zarkon and many others may like to argue otherwise, Kolivan’s pride as a Galran warrior was still very much intact. That meant accepting all formal challenges. However, that didn’t stop the knowledge that this would cause  _ talk _ . Trusting that Sendak would remain silent, no matter the outcome, was a pipe dream.

Then again, given that Zarkon was his presumptive benefactor, perhaps the Commander would take a more humble approach. For the sake of his Emperor’s image if nothing else.

Kolivan was torn away from his thoughts by Sendak's sudden declaration.

“I am ready you Earthen cur! Come at me!”

He looked up to see the Commander standing at the far end of the training room. He’d managed to grab a hold of one of the weighted broadswords. It was an interesting selection. The amount of strength needed to wield it effectively wasn’t common amongst the Galra and Half Galra on Earth.

It made a statement. 

Kolivan already knew what weapon he would use. He reached in and pulled out a dulled scimitar. It wasn’t  _ his  _ weapon (that was kept safely hidden away in his private quarters), but it was the closest thing amongst the dulled down replicas he had made for training and sparring.

Sendak narrowed his eyes at the choice of weapon, but said nothing. Apparently not thinking much of it.

“Because this is your territory, and I am the challenger, I shall allow you to announce the commencement,” Sendak said confidently.

“How very considerate of you.” Kolivan deadpanned as he took his place several feet from Sendak.

Zarkon’s young protege was confident. Perhaps too confident. Kolivan would soon find out.

Kolivan allowed a few tense moments to pass before saying in a loud, clear voice, “Begin!”

Sendak did not hesitate. He charged at Kolivan with an alarming speed, his sword coming up from a downward swing.

Kolivan side stepped the attack, only for Sendak to pivot his weight and allow the momentum of the blade to sing sideways towards its target. Kolivan managed to raise his own blade and block the attack. Knocking away the sword he moved in close aiming to strike a blow in the abdomen with the handle.

With only a fraction of a moment to react, Sendak pulled back, evading the blow, and muscling Kolivan staggered back. Taking advantage of the opening, Sendak moved in for a decisive blow.

A mistake.

Kolivan regained his footing almost immediately. He ducked under Sendak's blow, grabbed hold of his armor with his free hand and jammed his shoulder into the Commander's gut. Then, without a moments hesitation, Kolivan heaved his opponent over his shoulder and sent him sprawling face first onto the floor.

Sendak rolled over only to meet the tip of Kolivans weapon in his face.

It was over.

Kolivan held his blade there for a few tense moments, just to drive the point home, before lowering the blade.

It had been a good fight. Kolivan could not recall when he had last felt his heart pound so strongly in his chest or felt his blood flow so hotly. It was a refreshing feeling.

Kolivan offered his hand to his fallen opponent.

Sendak stared at it before shooting Kolivan a glare and standing on his own.

“The victory goes to you,” he acknowledged stiffly.

“It was a good match,” Kolivan said, not unkindly.

Sendak did not respond as he rolled his shoulder with a wince.

“Do you require any medical—” Kolivan began, but the other ignored him, turning around and stiffly leaving the training room.

Kolivan let out a sigh and shrugged.

Young Commander Sendak had talent on top of a powerful physique, that much was for certain. A man many of Daibazaal likely watched with great interest. In that kind of environment, and still being relatively fresh, one could grow unused to losing.

Quietly, Kolivan returned the practice weapon to the rack, Sendak had left his on the floor, cleaned up the area and left.

Things had gone better than he had hoped. Neither opponent had been injured severely, and while not exactly a graceful loser, Sendak had accepted his loss without much fanfare. 

Kolivan was grateful things had ended so peacefully.

* * *

“You know they have vending machines in every corner of this place?” Acxa stated as she crossed her arms.

“Yes, but this has the best lime soda,” Veronica replied as she adjusted her glasses and smirked.

“It’s also famously known as the ‘death machine’,” Acxa replied darkly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Veronica said with a wave of her hand. “But I want two sodas from it for the price of one and you’re the only I know strong enough to punch it.”

Acxa shot her a sour look. “You are too cheap to buy yourself an extra soda.”

“No, I’m too cheap to buy  _ each  _ of us a soda,” Veronica replied and patted her shoulder.

Acxa rolled her eyes and Veronica had to repress a chuckle.

It was true that if hit just in the right spot the vending machine would pop out two cans and Veronica just didn’t have the muscle for it. However, it had been a coincidence the first time Acxa was walking by, noticed Veronica struggling to get the one can out, promptly punched it to loosen it and both ducked as two cans came flying out.

Since then Veronica attempted to make it a bit of a routine that she would drag Acxa along to get the extra can. She wasn’t really that cheap, but it was really an excuse to subtly spend some time with Acxa. Little by little, Veronica was determined to know her co-worker better.

Acxa rounded the corner first but halted in her tracks. Veronica frowned in confusion until she turned and spotted the reason.

Someone had already beaten them to the vending himself. He wore a medical gown and judging from his feature, Veronica assumed he was Galra, or at least half judging by the pointed ears.

Veronica was certain she had never seen him around the base before, and he didn’t seem to be aware they were watching him as he grumbled and hit the button repeatedly.

“You know him?” Veronica whispered.

“Nope,” Acxa replied, “and assuming you don’t either?”

“No,” Veronica replied. 

Quietly, she approached with Acxa close behind. The man still didn’t seem to notice them.

“I swear, if I have to get my tools just get a simple drink-”

Veronica cleared her throat.

The man froze. Stiffly he turned his head and noticed the two. Swiftly, he straightened his posture and coughed before he spoke.

“Apologies, I did not see you there,” he said primly.

“It’s fine,” Veronica said with a smile. “This machine is known for being frustrating to deal with. Do you want some help?”

“Thank you, but no,” the man curtly replied as he returned his gaze to the machine. “I’m certain I can get it to work.”

He pushed the buttons and again there was no reaction.

“You just need to punch it,” Acxa said flatly as she stepped forward and tapped the glass with her fist.

The man sighed as he pushed back his white hair. “I see,” he said and whacked it with his hand.

“No, you’re being too gentle,” Acxa advised “you need to hit harder.”

The man’s eye twitched slightly. “I appreciate your advice but I’m certain I can fix this myself without throttling it,” he said as he then kneeled and examined the slot where the cans were dropped.

Acxa didn’t seem to clue in where he had moved as she brought up her fist. “Just let me show you. It’ll be faster.”

Veronica blinked and then it dawned on her. 

Acxa was about to punch the machine. The man was standing where the soda cans would be dropped and if the pattern from the last few trips were repeated, then the cans were likely going to fly out of that slot.

“Acxa wait,” Veronica warned as she touched her friend’s shoulder. “I think it’ll-”

Too late.

Acxa swung her fist. The vending machine vibrated. The man barely looked up before a can slammed into his forehead. The man yelped as he stumbled backwards and a second can fired.

Veronica starred with her eyes wide. Acxa looked dumbfounded with her fist still held up in the air. The second can crashed against the wall and rolled until it hit the man’s foot. The man groaned as he sat up and rubbed a red mark on his forehead.

“Are you alright?” Veronica asked as she stepped forward.

The man grunted as he stood up and still nursed his forehead. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Sorry about that,” Acxa said, slightly panicked. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s quite alright,” the man replied a bit sharply. He cleared his throat. “It was an accident.” 

“Do you want me to get you some ice?” Acxa offered.

“No thank you,” the man replied as he winced but then narrowed his eyes at them. “But I would prefer it if we keep this incident to ourselves.”

Veronica frowned. That was a bit of an odd request. “Uh, sure, of course, but are you certain you don’t want us to take you to the infirmary?” 

“Very certain,” the man replied as he walked away. “If you’ll excuse me. I am needed elsewhere.”

“Wait,” Acxa as she picked up the stray fallen can and handed it to him. “Don’t open it for awhile but here’s your drink.”

The man glared at the can, but gave a small nod to Acxa. “Thank you, now if you ladies will excuse me.”

Veronica watched him go and didn’t speak until he was gone.

“Wonder who he was?” she muttered.

“Does it matter?” Acxa said with a shrug.

Veronica cringed as she crossed her arms. “Well, considering he’s part Galra and if you don’t recognize him well…”

Acxa raised an eyebrow. “Well what?”

Veronica rubbed her neck. “What if he is with Zarkon’s group?”

Acxa glanced to where the man had been and looked contemplative. Then her frown tightened. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Veronica asked.

“Half Galra aren’t exactly well regarded on Daibazaal. One couldn’t be working for Zarkon at a high enough position to accompany him here.”

“You never know,” Veronica said. “Still might be safe to do as he said and not tell anyone about what we just saw.”

Acxa nodded as she pointed to the vending machine. “Still want me to get that drink?”

“Might as well,” Veronica said with a shrug. “But I’ll just make sure to step back so I don’t become victim number two.”

As if on cue, the vending machine suddenly rattled and another can was dropped into the slot.

“And that makes three.” Acxa sighed. “They really need to fix that thing.”

* * *

“Are you feet tired? Because my feet are tired,” Hunk stated as he slumped over his knees.

Narti quietly sipped her drink as she joined him on the bench in the hallway. After the chips, Hunk had been nice enough to get her something called a ‘cheery soda’. It was bubbly but oddly refreshing.

Pidge raised her hand as she joined them. “I am, my feet are ready to fall off. We must have walked around the whole Garrison.”

“Which is a sign of a successful tour,” Lance stated proudly as he sat down as well. “Did you enjoy yourself Lotor?”

Narti gave a nod.

Lance grinned as he puffed out his chest. “Then I declare this a success.” He gave a smirk. “Wait until I get to brag this to Keith later.”

Kova tilted his head as Narti sipped. She had no idea who this ‘Keith’ was, but she assumed he was likely one of the other paladins.

Pidge then frowned as she glanced at her phone. “I wonder how Shiro is doing.” 

Lance’s triumph smile vanished as his eyes narrowed and he leaned against his hand. “Yeah, the operation should be over by now right?”

Narti’s body became slightly stiff, but continued to sip her drink. 

“Probably but it’s a new high prosthetic they’re attaching,” Hunk replied with a shrug. “No telling how long it’ll take.”

Lance sighed as he glanced over to Narti. “I don’t suppose you know? Since it’s one of your guys performing the operation.”

Narti gulped but shook her head, which was the truth. She knew the operation would be long, but judging from what Lotor told her the adjustments afterward was likely to take awhile.

“I was afraid of that,” Lance grumbled. “Wish we could go check up on him.”

“Keith told me he would send a text as they were done,” Hunk replied. “So we’ll just-”

A sharp beep caught him off. Hunk reached into his pocket and brought out his cellphone. “Huh, speak of the devil, it’s from Keith.”

Lance and Pidge bolted from their chairs and scrambled to read over his shoulder. 

“What does it say?!” Lance said as he tried to shove Pidge aside to see.

“Operation was complete,” Hunk said as he narrowed his eyes. “They’re just finishing up the adjustments. Think they’ll be done in another hour, so we might be able to go visit.”

Narti nervously tapped her fingers on her cup. If that was the case she would have to return to the ship soon. If she went with them to the operating room and Lotor was still there it wouldn’t take long for her to be exposed.

“Let’s go see him then,” Lance stated and looked to Narti. “Did you want to come with us? I know you don’t know Shiro but it was your people that provided the arm? So you probably-”

Narti vigorously shook her head as Kova growled softly.

“Oh uh, you want us to take you back to the ship maybe?”

Narti nodded.

Pidge raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as Lance stood up.

“Okay, so we’ll drop you off at the ship and then we can go see-”

“Hey Baby Bro!” shouted a new female voice.

Suddenly, Lance cringed as he crossed his arms. “I thought we agreed you couldn’t call me that anymore.”

Narti had Kova glance over her shoulder. Two females walked on, one human who was smirking in amusement, and the other appeared to be a half Galra.

Narti looked on curiously as she set her drink on the seat next to her and stood.

The human woman laughed as she approached and ruffled Lance’s hair.

“I recall you telling me that,” the woman said, “but I made no indication that I agreed to it.”

Lance growled as he looked in Narti’s direction. “This is my older sister Veronica.”

_ Ah, so siblings,  _ Narti thought.  _ That explains a lot.  _

“And the other person with her is Acxa,” Pidge finished. “They both work at the Garrison.”

Acxa gave a small nod in greeting.

Veronica kept her smile as she waved as Lance fixed his messed up hair. “And who is your new friend?” 

Without thinking Narti signed “My name is Narti, but not that anyone can understand me.”

Acxa raised an eyebrow as Lance grinned and pointed at Narti.

“This is Princess Lotor,” he declared. “We’ve been showing her around.”

Narti gave a quick bow of the head.

Veronica looked intrigued, however Acxa narrowed her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest and stated flatly “Her name isn’t Lotor, it’s Narti.”

Narti dropped her cup. Kova gave a low growl as she sensed her nervousness while wrinkling his nose.

“Uh, no, this is Princess Lotor,” Lance said as he pointed.

“You say that,” Acxa replied as she pointed to Narti, “but she just signed with her hands that her name is ‘Narti’.”

Narti jumped out of her chair. “You can understand me?!” she frantically signed with her hands.

“I’m hardly an expert,” Acxa said, “but I have a basic enough knowledge.”

Narti couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t a rare language but she had only met a handful of people besides Honerva and Lotor who could fully understand her and it was normally the odd merchant she encountered. None of the nobility in the court had ever bothered to learn it. 

Earth was one of the last places Narti ever expected to find anyone who she could freely discuss with. 

And it was someone close to her age, and a half Galra. A small part of her felt a bit giddy at this revelation. 

“So Diabazaal has it’s own sign language,” Veronica muttered. “Fastincating.”

“Forget that,” Lance screamed as he shoved Acxa aside to get in front of Narti. “Let’s get back to the ‘MY NAME IS NARTI AND NOT LOTOR’ BIT HERE!”

Narti gulped. 

Right. She had almost forgotten why this was actually a bad thing. She meekly tapped her pointer fingers together as she glanced up at Lance.

“Well, are you?” Lance asked.

Narti sighed and feeling she had no other choice began to move her hands.

“She says her name is Narti,” Acxa translated. “And Lotor is a boy, not a girl.”

“Of course,” Hunk grumbled as she slapped a hand to his forehead. “But why did you trick us?”

Narti cringed, but continued.

“She’s very sorry for doing it,” Acxa continued as she crossed her arms, “but she was desperate to leave the hangar. She had been instructed by both Zarkon and Lotor to stay with the ship and was bored out of her mind.”

“Wait a second,” Pidge said as she raised a hand and stepped forward. “You came all the way here from Diabazaal, only to get told to stay in the Garrison’s hangar?” 

Narti nodded.

Pidge seemed to mull this over as she gave a slow nod of her own. “You know what...fair.”

“WHAT?!” Lance cried. “She tricked us.”

“Sure, but if I had been in her shoes I would have done the same thing,” Pidge said.

“Same, honestly,” Veronica said as she patted Narti’s shoulder. “I would have been fuming if that had happened to me.”

“I agree,” Acxa commented. 

Narti felt a bit more relaxed, but cringed as Lance moaned and tugged at his hair.

“So, I just wasted the day showing around the wrong person?” He sighed and scowled at Narti. “So, where is the real Lotor then?”

Narti moved her fingers and glanced to Acxa to translate.

“She says Lotor is the one performing the operation on Shiro,” Acxa said. “He is not tall as most Galra males, but has long white...hair.”

Acxa trailed off and suddenly her eyes widened. Puzzled, Narti ceased her signing as Acxa then glanced to Veronica who seemed just as shocked.

“You don’t think…” Acxa said.

“He had long white hair,” Veronica muttered.

“Who had what?” Hunk asked.

“Nevermind,” Acxa said as she held up her hand. 

“Sssooo….,” Hunk asked as he rubbed his neck, “what do we do? I really would like to check on Shiro.”

Narti dropped her hands. No doubt they would come to the conclusion to locate Prince Lotor and tell him everything that happened. This was an important diplomatic mission, and likely her last one once Zarkon learned what she did.

Acxa narrowed her eyes slightly at Narti and then looked to the paladins. “This is what we do.” She gestured to herself. “Veronica and I will escort Narti back to the hangar, while the rest of you go and see Shiro.”

Veronica adjusted her glasses. “And I take it we’ll just keep this little incident to ourselves?”

“Exactly,” Acxa stated firmly.

“Sounds like a good plan for me,” Hunk confirmed.

Narti raised her head slightly surprised.

As if she was reading her thoughts, Acxa then stated, “The Garrison needs this mission to go as smoothly as Zarkon’s does.”

Lance frowned. “You sure? I feel like we should come clean.” He cast a glare at Narti. “Why should we be nice to her when she used us?”

Hunk wrapped an arm around Lance’s shoulders, “You can’t tell me you don’t feel like she was a bit justified? And it’s not like we broke any major rules.”

“Besides, do you  _ really  _ want to tell Zarkon that you mistook someone else for his kid?” Pidge replied.

Lance raised and then slowly let his hand drop. “Okay...fair point.”

Hunk walked over and patted Narti’s shoulder. “It was a nice visit. Next time, if we’re able, I’ll see if I can cook you something. In the meantime, I’ll try to grab you some more chips.”

Narti nodded and she waved her hands.

“She says ‘thanks’,” Acxa said as she began to walk. “We better go before anyone catches on.”

Narti gave a small wave as Kova purred gently against her.

Once they were alone, she heard Veronica clear her throat.

“Can I ask you something?” Veronica said.

Narti frowned, but gave a slow nod.

Veronica pointed. “Can I pet your cat?”

Narti tilted her head and looked to Acxa as she signed.

“She says you may but not his back,” Acxa translated, “go for under his chin or behind his ears.”

“Got it,” Veronica said as she held out her hand for Kova. 

The cat sniffed and before long Narti heard Kova purring softly.

“What a good kitty,” Veronica cooed. “Yes you.”

“Veronica and I have nothing else to do,” Acxa said. “If you like we can stay with you and ensure you're comfortable in the hangar until your people are back.”

Narti gave a small smile as she nodded. She had hoped to avoid being caught in her trick with the paladins, but now she was feeling rather grateful to have been found out. 

* * *

“Nemor, how many times are we going to have to go over this?” Blaytz asked exasperated.

Planet Tharog’s representative had not been easy to smooth down. He could almost sympathize with Nemor losing his temper against the man. Still, somehow he’d managed. 

“I do not see how you can be so complacent with such behavior!” Nemor huffed. “He called our Queen a ‘mere woman’. I do not know what he meant by that but I could tell by his tone that it was nothing good.”

It really wasn’t. The leader of Planet Tharog was known to have fairly patriarchal views about governance as well as a straightforward idea of how inheritance worked. So Nalquod, a planet traditionally ruled by Queens who passed the crown down to their eldest niece, must have thrown the man for a loop.

However, their situation had not been improved by Nemor tearing into the man. Otherwise Luxia might have managed to get around the man's pre-existing ideas. As it was they had only just managed to avoid relations between their planets completely deteriorating.

“Look, I know how frustrating it can feel—” Blaytz began.

“No you don’t,” Nemor snapped. “You are hardly even on Nalquod any more! You spend all your time on that far off planet or with that pack of air breathing off-worlders. You have adopted this E-arth as your new favored abode and abandoned your real home to fend for itself!”

“Nemor!” Luxia’s voice cut through the water causing Nemor to flinch.

“But, my Queen!” he whined pathetically. ‘It is the truth”

“You speak of despising disrespect, and yet you blatantly display it in my presence!” Luxia scolded. “Apologize.”

Nemor scowled but managed to force out, “I… apologize for my harsh words Blaytz. I am merely concerned about your commitment to Nalquod and our Queen.”

Luxia did not look satisfied. “That is not a proper—”

“It’s fine,” Blaytz cut in. There was no benefit in dragging this discussion out. “I have been away from Nalquod for a long while, and truth be told, I will likely be returning to Earth soon. I still have paladin duties to fulfill. No worries, though. I haven’t forgotten my duties to Luxia.”

“ _ Queen _ Luxia.” Nemor corrected.

“Right,” Blaytz sighed then repeatedly tiredly, “ _ Queen _ Luxia.”

“You are dismissed Nemor.” Luxia said with a wave.

“But my Queen!”

“You are dismissed,” she repeated unfavorably.

Nemor looked downcast as he glumly swam out of the throne room.

Once he was gone Luxia sighed, “You should not let him disrespect you like that. Officially you are one of, or rather our  _ only _ , ambassador.”

“Oh come on you have more than just me.”

“That… might be considered debatable. All of our newest volunteers still struggle to wrap their minds around the ways of offworlders. Mind they are very enthusiastic. Blumfump is quite eager, for instance.”

“Blumfump?” Blaytz asked in disbelief. “You recruited Blumfump?”

“He’s willing.” Luxia shrugged. “More importantly he’s sincere. Even if he is a little… odd.”

Blaytz fondly remembered Blumfump. As Luxia said he was quite weird, though he’d said the same thing about Blaytz quite often. His interest in science and learning about the worlds beyond Nalquod truly was genuine. Logically it’d make sense for someone like that to be made an ambassador.

It was just that Blumfump tended to get stuff wrong. Like that time Blaytz had had to carefully explain why it would probably be a bad idea to implement electrical appliances on their planet without any modifications. Still, he supposed he was less temperamental than Nemor.

“I am sorry to have dragged you all the way here,” Luxia sighed, “I was hoping we could handle such a minor visit on our own.”

“Eh don’t worry about it,” Blaytz said waving his hand. “Things on Earth aren’t too demanding. Besides, when I left Zarkon was on his way, and given his steadfast approach to diplomacy I’m sure things can’t go too wrong.”

“How is Emperor Zarkon?” Luxia asked. “We have not spoken in some time.”

“Well,” Blaytz clicked his tongue and scratched his gills, “he’s still coming to terms with some stuff, I think.”

Like, having a new paladin. Or at least having one that wasn’t his son.

“He is not a guy who likes the idea of being replaced I think,” Blaytz said instead. “I think if we let him, he’d go on being the Black Paladin until he died.”

"Is that not how Galra typically deal with term limits?" Luxia asked. 

"I don't think it'd be wise to comment," Blaytz said bluntly. 

"What are other Galra like?" Luxia asked carefully. "Even after all these years I have only gotten to know a few personally." 

Blaytz raised an eyebrow. "What do you think they're like?" 

"Not like I used to think," she admitted carefully. "Though how I would describe them as a people now, I do not know." 

"Whole races rarely fit under a single list of traits," he laughed. 

Still, Blaytz gave it some thought. 

"Hardy, and not just physically," he began. "They can take hits, sure, but I've seen them tolerate some really tough conditions. Remarkably group oriented too. Not just with their family, but with all galra."

Luxia frowned. "I would not have thought that. Even the ones who are fond of one another fight. Given, they seem to have a remarkable amount of fun with it."

"True, but not really what I meant. They'll fight amongst themselves plenty, and not just for fun. There's a surprising amount of pettiness in some of that lot." Realizing he was sounding a tad too critical, Blaytz shifted gears, "What I really mean, is that if you give them a shared goal or enemy they can become remarkably cooperative. They're all usually stubborn to some degree and don't like to be told what to do. Really it's the fastest way to end an argument between two galra. Just throw something bigger, stronger, more threatening that's NOT a galra and they'll cooperate like they never disagreed. "

"Just like that? No argument?" 

"Not really. I think the trick is that they all think it was their own idea, and as long as you  _ let _ them think that you're in the clear."

"You certainly seemed to have learned a lot over the years. Back when I was a girl, I wouldn't have been able to think of them in such a complicated way. Not from the way auntie spoke, anyway. She'd have always said they lacked emotion."

"Well they're not… I mean I wouldn't say emotional but…" Blaytz paused, "Zarkon, now. There's a guy you'd say was emotionally stunted. But he still feels things. He feels things very strongly and deeply. They all do, I think. It's why they have such a strict grasp on discipline. It's kinda like a society wide over correction."

He bit his lower lip and scratched his gills again. It was precisely that reason he hadn't wanted to leave Earth. Zarkon felt, not  _ offended  _ by the Earth Galra but more, disappointed? 

Not even particularly in them, but in himself. Some small portion of the man's nearly bottomless self assured confidence had been chipped away at. He felt certain that they'd only left because of  _ him _ . 

Blaytz wasn’t a mind reader and even with all the years he’d spent with Zarkon, there was still a lot about the man he didn’t fully understand. He couldn’t, for instance, wrap his mind around his odd obsession with control. Zarkon always had to feel in control of any situation, and when he lost that control he acted out.

In battle, this was never a problem since Zarkon could always identify just what the source of the problem was and fix it. It started being a problem, however, when it came to random instances of misfortune for which no one could be plausibly blamed, and, of course, when it came to people. 

“Must you rush off to Earth right away?” Luxia asked, her voice tinged with concern. “Would it not be best for you to remain here and rest before making another trip? We already have our meals prepared for the night. You could remain here and make a fresh start on the morrow.”

Blaytz hesitated. 

He really should leave right away. If he left now he’d likely get back to Earth right before the end of the planet's day cycle. Especially if he could manage to get an Altean portal to quickly pop him over to the other end of the universe. Then he would be present to mitigate any goings ons between Zarkons people and the Garrison's local Galra.

Then again…. After all, why shouldn’t he take a quick rest? It wasn’t like Zarkon was “undisciplined” and irresponsible. Sure, he didn’t have a lot of nuance in his political dealings, but in a way, that was what people tended to like about him. Straight and to the point was Emperor Zarkon.

Besides, Prince Lotor would be with him. Zarkon always made an extra effort when his wife or son were present. Blaytz fancied he liked impressing them.

“You know what? I think I’ll take you up on that.” Blaytz said with a smile, “After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

* * *

Zarkon had taken the longest route he knew of to meet with the Earth representatives. It was for the best. Waltzing in to meet Admiral Sanda in the mood he had been in would not have been wise. That woman knew just how to trigger a response out of Zarkon, and he didn’t need to give her extra help. Thankfully it did the trick. Sanda’s superiors being present also helped since it dampened her usually suspicious attitude.

The meeting had not served to calm his nerves, but it had gone well enough that he hadn’t been stressed out any further than he already was. By Zarkon’s standards this was a decent enough outcome.

He knew he should go back to the ship. There would be a meal, a strong drink, and a hot bath waiting for him. Then he could relax, regroup his thoughts, and ponder on all he had heard and seen that day. From there Zarkon could develop a much more solid plan for how to move forward with Earth’s relations.

However, he didn’t do that.

A tiny widely unadvertised and sometimes even unacknowledged part of him wanted to see Prince Lotor. There were times where the unreasonable desire to see Honerva or their son suddenly struck him. It was, admittedly, embarrassing but Zarkon had managed with the needs for many years now.

Of course, he always had to come up with an excuse. It was unseemly for him to walk around like a lovesick moron or a doting parent in desperate need of companionship. Besides, favoring Lotor’s company in particular might be construed as blatant nepotism now that he was a part of the fleet. 

Given the timeframe Lotor had riddled off not long before, Zarkon knew his son should still be in the Garrison's medical wing working on Shiro’s prosthetic. By now he had probably already finished attaching the arm, and was just working on the tune ups. However, given that the whole thing was being seen as an important diplomatic gesture on behalf of the Empire it would be perfectly natural for Emperor Zarkon himself to pop in and see how the whole thing was going.

Besides, Zarkon could remember how exhausted Honerva would be after one of these operations. It took many hours and required a great deal of mental concentration as well as physical fortitude. By the end, his wife would always need food, drink, and time alone.

It would be a good idea to ask Lotor what arrangements he could make on the ship for him ahead of time to best help his recovery. Which was a perfectly natural thing for him to ask under the circumstances, and was not at all fueled by the quiet concern that their son had inherited his mother's habit of overworking herself.

He didn't find him in the med bay, however as he caught sight of his son as he turned a corner in the hall. It seemed he had left the med bay for some reason and was now returning. Good, Zarkon had not been looking forward to dealing with the small stir his sudden appearance would have caused. 

Zarkon hurried forward. 

“Lotor!” He called to attract attention.

Lotor stopped dead and froze up. It was an unnatural reaction. The back of Zarkon’s mind waved a warning flag.

Zarkon caught up to him in no time. Lotor didn’t turn around. Zarkon frowned and said, “I finished early with the Garrison leadership. How is the attachment process going?”

Lotor raised a hand and pressed it against his forehead before finally turning around, “It is going well. I do not have time to speak, there are still things that need to be done. So I will be on my way.”

Lotor tried to move away but Zarkon’s suspicion was definitely piqued. He grabbed his son's wrist noticing some sort of can in his hand, but that was a mere note compared to the weird way Lotor was blocking the view of his forehead with this other hand.

“What are you hiding?” Zarkon demanded.

“N-Nothing,” Lotor stammered.

The stammer only confirmed for Zarkon that something was wrong. Zarkon pulled the hand away.

There was a bruise on Lotor’s forehead. It was a fresh reddish purple, but was already beginning to take on a dark blue color around the edges. It was not small.

Zarkon stared wide-eyed. Briefly his fingers hovered next to Lotor’s face before dropping his hand and clenching it into a fist.

“What happened?” Zarkon asked in a quiet tone that was slowly beginning to simmer.

Lotor didn’t meet his eyes and tried to deflect, “Nothing—”

“What  _ happened _ ?” Zarkon repeated, his tone rising.

“Nothing!” Lotor repeated more clearly.

“It is not nothing Lotor,” the anger in his voice was clear now. “How did you get that wound? Did you fight?”

“Of course not!” Lotor placed a hand over the offending bruise and turned away, “You know I don’t run around picking fights. Do not jump to such foolish conclusions."

"What choice do I have when you refuse to answer the question?!" Zarkon barked, his voice loud enough to echo. 

"Keep your voice down!" Lotor hissed glancing down the hall. “The last thing we need is for someone to come out here because you can’t keep your voice down!”

“Then give me an explanation!”

Lotor still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Worse, Zarkon could see he was hesitating. Thinking.

It upset him. Zarkon couldn’t think of any reason Lotor would refuse to give him an answer. Not if it were truly ‘nothing’ as his son insisted.

“It was an accident.” Lotor said slowly, “A freak accident.”

Zarkon narrowed his eyes. He did not buy that for a moment. Odd behavior aside, Lotor wasn’t clumsy. No way did he walk into a door, or trip down some stairs or anything silly like that.

Unfortunately, Lotor didn’t seem inclined to answer any more questions.

“I have to go.”

“We are not done talking about this Lotor!”

“Yes, we are.” Lotor sighed as he moved down the hall, “I just hit my head in a freak accident. I will swear on it.”

With that, he left. Without so much as a passing goodbye in his hurry.

Zarkon couldn’t believe Lotor’s story. It had been too vague, and he’d been too eager to finish the conversation and leave. Perhaps it was his nerves acting on him, but he just couldn’t buy that his son had developed a sudden bout of clumsiness. Not when he was otherwise so exceptionally nimble. That only left the possibility that Lotor had gotten into a fight without consulting his father.

The central problem with that explanation was that none of his men would have dared harm his son, and Lotor was the least likely member of his current group to get into a fight with any of the locals even on accident. 

It was one of the more minor ways Lotor set himself apart from his peers. Even in Zarkon's day, young recruits typically found any excuse to get into fights. Anything from lighthearted tussling to full on semi organized brawls (the latter was technically forbidden, but that didn't stop it from happening). 

Prince Lotor, however, tended to avoid random pointless brawling. He never actually displayed any distaste for combat. In fact his son’s near encyclopedic knowledge in regards to the many battles of their people’s history and the strategies used therein rivaled and even surpassed his father’s. He just had no taste in violence with no clear end to be gained.

It also wasn’t like he had no desire to partake in combat training. Zarkon could still remember the years and years Lotor had spent trying to wear his father down and convince him that he was more than ready to begin training in combat. An eventuality that, as a matter of fact, never came to pass. Not that that mattered now.

To Zarkon’s suspicious mind that only left one possibility. 

Someone on this planet had attacked his son or otherwise baited him into a fight of some kind, willing or no, and left that mark on his forehead. Lotor didn’t like to think of himself as being easily rattled, but given how easily Throk had managed to inadvertently get a rise out of him before, that was likely false. Zarkon didn’t know how it could have been done; perhaps by levering some insult against himself, or his son's odd friendship with Narti, or Ancients forbid, Lotor’s mother.

If his indignation could be aroused, Lotor might agree to a fight whether his father had approved or not. Then, after presumably losing, he'd naturally try to hide the fact. To lick his wounds, dodge Zarkon’s ire, and, what Zarkon considered most in character for his son, avoid causing an international incident.

Lotor had been very wary of causing any kind of ‘incident’ on Earth to the point that he had insisted on setting clear rules for how everyone would behave. The rules were not all well received. Zarkon had to step in when Lotor told the men not to bring weapons onto the surface. After that Sendak and the others had, unwillingly, followed the command.

Zarkon had gone along with the whole thing due to the personal knowledge that his son was just better at this kind of thing. It was likely because of all the time Lotor had spent with King Alfor as a child. Even living on Altea for a whole year as a student.

The Emperor knew how to talk to people. Especially when it came to convincing them to fly towards an enemy under heavy fire. Lotor  _ didn’t  _ know how to talk to people (though he could fake it fairly convincingly)  _ but  _ he did know diplomacy and how to get things done with words and mostly walk away with what they wanted. It was all a form of charisma while not really being the same thing.

No Lotor wouldn’t pick a fight. He was simultaneously too smart and too stubborn to start a battle he wasn’t both reasonably sure he'd win and also confidently certain he’d walk away from richly awarded. There were exceptions, of course, since Lotor was still so young and inexperienced, but generally it was how his son thought.

Zarkon growled and swept around, going back the way he came.

Screw the politics, he was seeing Kolivan about this.

* * *

Kolivan heard Zarkon coming before he actually appeared. It was like hearing an oncoming train if trains had metal boots, long fast strides, and headlights that glared so much they could curdle milk.

It also marked the third time that day that Zarkon, or one of his group, came into his office. Kolivan was finding he wasn’t in the mood for it. There were whole stacks of unattended paperwork that he had to get signed and turned in by the end of the day tomorrow if the rest of the week's festivities were going to carry on smoothly.

He didn’t have time to deal with whatever temper tantrum the Emperor felt like throwing. Even so, Kolivan wasn’t allowed to turn him out. Better to let him say his piece and then let him storm out of the room, than to risk invoking a prolonged confrontation.

That was why he didn’t look up from his paperwork when he heard the door open.

“Kolivan, I must speak with you. It is urgent.” 

_ You think everything you want to say is urgent _ , was something Kolivan did  _ not  _ say. Instead he settled for a hum of non-commital acknowledgement. 

Zarkon didn’t pay it any mind. In fact, he barreled so quickly into speech that Kolivan wondered if he’d wasted some perfectly good air on that hum.

“It is not for me to rush into accusations but-”

Kolivan tuned him out. Honestly, he wondered how much further Zarkon intended to disappoint him. He had already known that expecting Zarkon to have changed in any significant way had been a long shot, but it still felt disappointing to see that his one time friend had not softened at all with age. At least not in any way Kolivan had yet seen. 

Zarkon cared about their people. It was one of the reasons Kolivan had managed to get on with him despite their differences. But Zarkon had always lacked basic empathetic understanding when it came to just what the greatest problems the vast majority of their people actually faced were, and evidently he had still yet to develop any kind of inkling in that regard. When he had heard he had married he had thought that, at least on a superficial level, Zarkon may have become more lenient, but that had proven to be a false hope as well. 

“Are you not listening to me Kolivan!”

Kolivan had managed to pick up the key phrases. ‘Fight’ and ‘injury’ had been used multiple times. He also had heard Zarkon reference his son. 

It was enough for him to piece together what this all was probably about.

“If this is about that match I had with your son earlier today, then I suggest you go ask him about it.” Kolivan said absently.

There was a deafening silence.

It only took a moment for Kolivan’s instincts to kick into gear and alert him to the danger. 

He looked up.

Zarkon was looking at him and not with anything so kind as a glare. Kolivan’s long experience couldn’t call it anything other than a look of pure murder. He could practically taste the sense of bloodlust Zarkon’s entire body gave off.

When the Emperor finally spoke, it was with a tense low barely controlled voice dripping contempt, “Show me to your dueling grounds before I paint this base with your blood.”


End file.
